


Farewell, My Beloved

by HillaryLeonor



Category: Political RPF, Political RPF - US 20th c., Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Childhood Sweethearts, Courtroom Drama, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-06-30 07:25:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 50,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15747063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HillaryLeonor/pseuds/HillaryLeonor
Summary: A murder in 1983 tore Bill and Hillary apart and their dreams of taking over the world. And now, twenty-two years later, the ghosts of the said murder has come to haunt them and destroy them for good.Told in Bill's POV. Set 2005





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My aunt is staying with my family and I CANNOT FUCKING STUDY...so I wrote this instead *sigh*

"This court finds the defendant, Joe Biden, not guilty."

It took me five seconds to fully realize what had just happened. The judge was already descending from his bench and everyone was shuffling to get out of the courtroom. Joe, in his usual self, was happily fielding the small group of court reporters who had gathered in front of him to ask questions. As his dutiful lawyer, I should have been beside him while he answered questions from the press. But my mind was blank. I was numb. I was still in a state of disbelief. No. There was no way the judge ruled in my favor and defeated the great Hillary Rodham in court.

But the jubilant face of my friend Joe and Hillary's stony expression as she picked up her files on the prosecution bench woke me up from my trance. This was real. Everything was real. The judge did find Joe innocent and I, a rookie defense attorney, defeated Hillary Rodham, the so-called Demon Prosecutor of the Southern District of New York.

No, Hillary Rodham wasn't really a demon, but she was a woman to be feared. In her entire career as a prosecutor, she had never lost a case. She had sent mob bosses, serial killers, bank fraudsters and corrupt politicians to jail. She hates crime with tremendous passion. If you committed a crime and Hillary Rodham was assigned to prosecute you, you might as well work on a plea deal because she would definitely find you guilty. It would be best not to cross her, or else she would make your life miserable.

However, there were whispers, whispers of innocent people being sent to jail because of her extreme prosecutorial tactics. She knew how to play the jury. But when those who were convicted because of her appealed their cases, their verdicts weren't overturned because she did her due diligence in presenting the evidence against them.

In other words, she knew how to manipulate people into her thinking. 

When I decided to defend Joe against Hillary, I knew it was an uphill battle. It didn’t help that Joe was upset that Hillary was assigned on his case. But I couldn’t leave Joe on his own. He was broke, and he didn’t have anything to pay for his defense. And more importantly, the defense attorneys we approached didn’t want to defend him as soon as they saw Hillary was prosecuting. In other words, Joe was bust.  With no one else wanting to defend Joe, I decided to be his attorney.

And now, Joe was rightfully declared innocent, and Hillary was wearing a scowl that I had never seen on her before.

I knew leaving Joe in the middle of an interview was a dereliction of my duty, but I still ran towards Hillary, calling her name multiple times. She kept walking as if she didn’t hear anything, but I knew better. She was ignoring me because I dealt a blow on her perfect record. It was only when I overtook her that she stopped and decided to pay attention to me.

“Rodham,” I said. Saying her last name tasted weird on my mouth.

“Clinton,” she gave a curt nod. “Congratulations,” she added. I could tell that the last word left a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Thanks.” I really didn’t feel like I deserved the congratulations from her, but what else could I say? Even in her upset state, she still knew how to throw me off. “Listen,” I said, “I want to congratulate you on an impeccable job. You gave me a hard time.”

Hillary squinted her eyes. I bet she was thinking whether I was low-key taunting her.

“Thank you.” Her response was polite, but we both knew she could say nothing else. It was a forgone conclusion that we both think that I was flaunting my victory in front of her.

“I never thought I’d face you so soon,” I told her. It was the truth.  
Her brows furrowed so much that they looked like they joined at the middle.

“I came here because you inspired me to be a defense attorney,” I told her, and her scowl deepened.  She looked disgusted at herself.

“That is unfortunate,” she replied with her eyes on the floor. “I am sorry that I made you a defense attorney.”

“You used to dream of becoming a defense attorney, remember?” I tried to jog in on her memories, but I knew she hadn’t forgotten.

“A foolish time in my life,” she hastily replied.

I shook my head. She could not have been more wrong. “You were at your best when you believed the best in people.”

My last sentence seemed to have provoked her, because without warning, she pushed me away and left the courtroom, jostling. I knew better than to run after her. It would only provoke her more.

This was the first time I had spoken to Hillary in years, ever since she changed schools in fourth grade without even saying goodbye. I became a defense attorney because of her. Because even though she never told me, I knew she needed me. She needed her best friend to comfort her on the loss she never got to grieve, on the hatred she never learned to let go, on heartache that she never got to heal. 

But I am here now. I finally graduated from law school and got my license to be a defense attorney. From the moment she left, I promised myself that I would follow her and save her from the depths of darkness that had trapped her. I knew that in order to save her, I would have to face her in court. Today was just the beginning of my mission. The battle was won, but the war was far from over.

One day, I will redeem her. One day, I will save her. Just as she saved me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you know, 9 Hours is ending so I figured this will be a good time to debut its replacement already. In case you haven't noticed, I have a habit of always maintaining two fics that I update back and forth. So, this will be 9 Hours' replacement. ^_^


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the plot really begins ^_^

Joe Biden’s case had been very much publicized in the press, even landing a spot in the national nightly news. And so, naturally, once Joe had been off the hook, I was given numerous offers to join hotshot law firms. I never even thought I would be anywhere near them, much less be given a job offer. I took Joe’s defense without any help. I was a lawyer, fresh off the bar, and my friend needed someone to defend him. I was tailor-made for his needs: someone who was willing to defend him in court and who wouldn’t charge him (I intended to charge him but knowing Joe, he would never pay me). Besides, I owe him. A lot. He was the reason why I became a defense attorney, and I couldn’t be more grateful.

Even with the numerous job offers, I declined them all. Instead, I decided to open my own law firm, the Clinton Law Offices. It has a nice ring to it, hasn’t it? When I signed the registration papers for the law office, I felt a chill in my spine when I wrote down  _Clinton Law Offices_  on the dotted line. That was it. I became a full-fledged defense attorney, something I had been aspiring for years. Success never tasted sweeter  

And ever since I opened the Clinton Law Offices, people from all walks of life had approached me: women seeking divorce, corporations facing arbitration suits, immigrants facing deportation, laborers suing their employers and my most preferred clients, ordinary people seeking defense from criminal prosecution. I charge people by their capacity to pay, but I give them all the same level of dedication and expertise. My humane approach to my clients and my work ethic soon became a boon for me because in a couple of months, my clientele had expanded significantly, and I could no longer handle all the cases on my own. I had to hire another attorney.

Al Gore, a lawyer fresh off the bar and a native Tennessean, was the new guy in the office. I saw a lot of myself in him. He was a Southerner, just like me, and he had the same passion for helping people no matter what their standing is society is. The latter is what I am looking for in my associates, and I immediately hired him on his first interview. And true enough, I have not regretted hiring Al. He was as good as any attorney out there. He’s efficient, curious and had an eye to details. I know that he would not stay long with me because with his talent and smarts, he is definitely going places.

It was Christmas Day. I woke up late that day. Who would wake up at 5 AM on Christmas? Not me. I was snuggling in my warm bed and I was wearing two pairs of socks on my feet. I was yet to call my mother in Arkansas but I wasn’t feeling up to it yet. I stretched my arms and legs for some warmth and I felt my cellphone, sitting on my bedside table, at the end of my fingertips. I grabbed my cellphone and checked for messages. Just some standard Christmas greetings from my old law school friends, and one from Joe, who wished that I would get laid for Christmas (typical Joe).

The greetings from my clients were more heartfelt. I was very touched. It made me proud of my chosen profession. This was what I was living for: the clients whose lives I have saved and who were now living the best life they could have. It was the best feeling in the world to see them prospering and knowing that I had a hand in making their lives better.

The only oddity in the slew of text messages I received was the one from Al. He wished me a merry Christmas like everyone else, but the bottom part of his message sounded differently than the rest.

“Have you seen the news?” it read.

“Merry Christmas too. I haven’t turned the TV on yet,” I replied.

A few minutes later, Al texted back, “Catch the TODAY Show.”

I grabbed the remote and opened the TV to the TODAY Show. All I saw were the anchors who were gathered in front of the skating rink at 30 Rock, interviewing several tourists who had decided to spend Christmas in New York. I didn’t think that this was Al was talking about, so as I waited for the news recap, I walked out of my bedroom and grabbed some coffee.

Just in time when I returned, the anchor was now doing a recap of the day’s news. There was nothing particularly interesting to me. Just lameduck politics news and some pieces on the stock market. Until…

“And now, news breaking just this morning. A federal prosecutor from the Southern District of New York had been arrested by the FBI on the suspicion of murdering a famed defense attorney. Hillary Rodham, 32, was taken into custody because authorities believed she had met lawyer Michael Dukakis last night at the Bronx River in a canoe and shot him.”

I nearly dropped my cup of coffee when I heard the name Hillary Rodham. The sound of her name rang loudly in my mind like a gong. This was Joe’s trial all over again. No, no, no. There was no way Hillary Rodham could have committed a crime. Hillary Damn Rodham, the prosecutor who hated crime with a passion, killed somebody? No motherfucking way. There was no way she could have done that. Maybe Michael Dukakis met with a lady that looked like Hillary Rodham and then the police arrested her because they thought it was really her. Or there was another prosecutor named Hillary Rodham in the Southern District who met with Dukakis yesterday and shot him the Bronx River.

Or maybe these were all a part of Al’s practical joke on me, which was weird because it wasn’t April Fool’s Day.

Nevertheless, I found myself changing my clothes and hurrying towards the detention center where the FBI kept people who were waiting for trial. When I got there, the guards didn’t immediately let me see Hillary, mainly because I wasn’t her lawyer. It turned out that she had a strict request not to let anybody see her. I asked them to beg for me. The guard who I was talking to took pity on me and decided to ask Hillary to reconsider. After an hour of waiting and walking back and forth in the visitor’s area, they granted my request.

When I told me that I was going to see her, I suddenly felt like I was the one on trial and not Hillary. My palms started to sweat, and my legs began shaking. I didn’t know why I was acting this way. I had to remind myself several times that I was not in trouble. Hillary was, and I was just visiting to check things out, to see the truth for myself.

The door connecting the detention center and the visitor’s area opened, and I finally saw Hillary. She never looked more beautiful than I have ever seen her. Her golden hair was loose and bouncy, a stark contrast to her tight buns she always wore in court. She was wearing a white blouse and a floor-length skirt, accentuated with a belt that tightly hugged her small waist. Her eyes were as blue as ever, but the life I used to see behind them died many years ago.

Without thinking, I reached for her, like how I did many, many times before, but the glass wall separating us knocked me back to reality.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Clinton,” she mumbled as she sat down in front of me. “I know you came here to see me in an orange jumpsuit.”

I cleared my throat. I always felt out of my element whenever she was near. It’s like she was my Kryptonite.

“No, of course not,” I told truthfully. “I came here to see if the reports are true.”

“I see.” Her eyes refused to meet mine. “You can laugh now.”

“What?” I didn’t understand what she meant.

“LAUGH!” The force in her voice surprised us both. I had never seen her to agitated, so vulnerable. She was the picture of calm and cool whenever she was in court, but the Hillary Rodham in front of me was different from the Hillary who sent hundreds of criminals to prison. I wasn’t seeing the Demon Prosecutor of the Southern District, but rather the little girl that was trapped in an elevator during an earthquake twenty-two years ago.

“WHY AREN’T YOU LAUGHING?” She admonished me for my lack of response. I didn’t feel like laughing. Instead, I felt car sick. This was not the way I envisioned I would see Hillary after our first battle in court. Not in the detention center, and certainly not in these circumstances.

“I didn’t come here to laugh,” I didn’t realize how tired I felt until now.

“What do you want?” she gave me a dirty scowl. “To ask me what happened to you can tell your lawyer friends how their worst nightmare, the Demon Prosecutor of the Southern District, had gone down in disgrace? Well, Clinton, you need not look further than the news reports. It’s all there. I killed Mike Dukakis. End of story.”

_I killed Mike Dukakis. End of story_.

No, it wasn’t the end of the story. There was something more than that. It was the reason why I hurried to the detention center. I never believed that she could have done such a horrendous thing, no matter how ruthless she portrayed herself to be.

“No, it’s not.”

“Excuse me?”

“You didn’t kill Michael Dukakis,” I said firmly and calmly, a contrast to her outbursts. “I refuse to believe that.”

“Then keep fooling yourself,” she spat. “I couldn’t care less.” The way she said it was less than convincing. I felt that she did care what I think about all of this. And it only made my resolve to get to the bottom of this stronger. “I don’t want your hands on this case, Clinton,” she added, “you in particular I cannot ask to go through this.”

She refused to say anything more. She asked the jail guard to escort her back to her cell. Clearly, the guard was rattled because he had not heard an inmate order him like that before. No one was eager to return to their cells. Nevertheless, he obeyed her without complaint, and I was asked to leave the visitor’s area. I immediately set off to the scene of the crime. If Hillary didn’t want to talk, then I would have to extract the truth from other sources.

Today was Christmas Day, and I have no time for the festivities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did the story shock you? You think Hillary really did it? Let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just moving things along...

The Bronx River was usually empty during Christmas Day, as cold winds of December blew harshly on the place. But this day was different. Around fifty FBI agents were scouring the place of any evidence. They were busy as a bee. I bet a lot of them were gnashing their teeth when they were told that they must report for work because a murder had occurred on Christmas Eve. I pity them, though. They could be spending time with their families and yet here they were, looking for fingerprints and any trace of DNA’s in the patches of leaves.

It occurred to me just then: Why did the killer commit this crime on Christmas Eve? Surely, they must have some family to spend Christmas Eve with. It was really an odd time to commit a crime, with the holiday spirit and all that. That being said, did Hillary really go here last night? And if so, why? I knew Hillary only face Michael Dukakis in court once, and naturally, she got her client guilty. Was Michael planning a revenge against Hillary for handing him a loss? No. That’s absurd. I don’t think anyone would resort to murder just because they got bested in court. That was too far out from the realms of what was normal.   
I scanned the river for anything that I could use to begin my investigation. Luckily, I saw a familiar face spraying a nearby tree with luminol.

“Hey, W!” I called for George W. Bush, the FBI agent I met when I first clashed against Hillary in court. He was the lead investigator in that case, and we have worked on several cases since then. I was relieved that he was on Hillary’s case as well.

“My God, Clinton! Where have you been all morning! I’ve been looking all over for you!” He looked around if anyone was looking in his direction, and then he quietly berated me. “What took you so long?!”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been looking all over the place for you because I know you’d somehow end up involved in this case!”

“So why are you looking for me?” I was still clueless at what he meant.

“Miss Rodham’s in trouble, and you’ve got to help her!”

“Wait, why are you asking me to defend somebody? On a normal day, you would have wanted my ass out of every case that you handled.”

Bush leaned over to me and said, “nobody’s accepted her defense request yet.”

“Oh!” It wasn’t far-fetched to conclude that nobody wanted to defend her. After all, each of the attorneys she had asked were probably destroyed by her. “Damn.”

“I know,” Bush looked at me sadly. “You’ve got to help you. You’re the only one now who can.”

I shrugged. I couldn’t help her if she didn’t want to help herself.   
“I know you probably don’t like Miss Rodham after the brutal court battle that you had,” said Bush, referring to Joe’s trial, “but please, help her.”

I was moved and intrigued by Bush’s determination and insistence. “Why are you helping Miss Rodham? She’s been horrible to you?”

I heard a deep sigh from Bush. “I know it must be perplexing to you defense attorneys, but we FBI trust the prosecutors and vice-versa. And Miss Rodham trusted me more than I deserve to be trusted. That’s why I have faith in her.” He then lowered his voice a little more. “I know she couldn’t have done that horrendous thing, that’s why I am helping with the investigation as much as I can. I want to unearth the evidence that will prove her innocent.”

Bush’s faith in Hillary almost brought a tear to my eye. I have never seen Bush so determined, so desperate in a case. The relationship that they shared was so touching, so beautiful. That kind of foundation of deep trust within law enforcement circles was so rare these days.

“But there’s nothing I can do if she doesn’t want me,” I reasoned.

“I already visited her this morning. She threw me out.”

“But you’re here. It means you haven’t given up.”

“Maybe.”

“Listen, pal,” he said, “I know we haven’t always been on the same team, but in this case, we are.” Bush patted me to the shoulder to let me know he got my back. “I know you can convince Miss Rodham to take your case. She has always thought highly of your skill and your ability to empathize with other people. She thought that the qualities that you have will make you a great defense attorney.”

“She does?” That was news to me.

“Yep, she sure does,” he replied, and I didn’t see a hint of lying in his voice, because for all I know, he could have just been buttering me up to take her case. “So, if you need anything – information, evidence, anything – I’m your guy. Heck, you want to charge her a thousand dollars an hour and she doesn’t want to pay, I could even pay-“

“No, no, no,” I had to stop him from even finishing that sentence.

“You know I am not like that.”

Bush chuckled. “I do, I do. But I am just saying, I will do anything to help clear her name.”

“Even jeopardizing your work?”

Bush looked a little guilty, but he ultimately said, “Yes.”

“Alright,” I finally agreed. “I will do whatever it takes to clear her name.”

“Yes!” Bush said it a little louder than he wanted to, and several agents looked into his direction. Thankfully, we were able to act innocent, and so nobody suspected us. Once nobody was looking at us, we breathed a sigh of relief.

“Sorry,” he apologized quietly. “But yeah, you get it.”

“So,” I cracked my knuckles in front of Bush. “First things first. Autopsy report?”

Bush lowered his voice so that only I could her. “It’s still in the works, but the main gist is that Dukakis was killed by a gunshot wound around midnight.”

“Just one?” I asked.

“Yep. About fifteen minutes after midnight, there as a bout out on the river. In that boat were two people. One of them shot the other with a pistol.”

“And the shooter was…Hillary?”

“A cop who arrived on the scene arrested her,” Bush replied.

“How did they get so fast?”

“A witness saw what happened and he reported the crime immediately. When the report came in, we raced to the river.”

“Who’s this witness?” I asked.

“Sorry, I can’t let tell who he is, but I know you’ll figure it out,” he replied with an apologetic tone. “Anyway, the witness saw everything and apparently, he’ll turn out in trial.”

I figured out as much. But with my luck, I knew something was going to come up that will lead me to this witness.

“Is there only one witness?" I asked further.

“Yep. It’s pretty cold out there last night. It’s Christmas Eve after all. Still, we’re being thorough. You never know you’re going to turn up another witness. That’s why we’re here today, to check things out. But we’re coming up empty…”

“BUSH!” We heard a voice coming from behind, and we almost jumped when we heard it. We quickly broke away so that nobody would notice that we were talking.

“Yes, Sir!” I heard Bush answer to the call.

“We’ve got to go back to the headquarters. They want to hold an investigation briefing,” said the voice.

“A briefing?” Bush repeated as if he was unfamiliar with it. “Oh! A briefing right!” He quickly turned to me and said, “Sorry, pal. I gotta go. If you need me, I’d be at the field office. The meeting will probably be done in an hour or so. I’ll see if I can already give you a copy of the autopsy report.”

“Thanks, Bush. I owe you.”

“Nah,” Bush waved his hand in dismissal. “I owe you. You could have dumped Miss Rodham and yet here you are, investigating in the deep cold. Anyway, I’ll see you at the office. Find some evidence for me, okay?”

As Bush left the scene, I couldn’t help but think about what he just said. Could have I really just dumped Hillary? Theoretically, the answer would be yes. Nothing could stop me from spending my Christmas Day the way I wanted to. I could just drop this and call Mama or just drive all the way to New Jersey to relax. But I didn’t think my conscience would let me sleep knowing that she was sitting in her cell, all alone and helpless. After all, Hillary didn’t drop me when she knew I needed help, did she?

It was time to return the favor.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday and I am supposed to stay lateat work. Booooo

I walked around the vicinity of the river, away from the loud FBI agents. I discovered that there was a small camping ground near the river. A singular trailer was parked near the edge of the river. I wonder what kind of dumbass was camping in the middle of this extreme weather.

I came close to the trailer to inspect. I looked at the windows and found the trailer empty. I had to admit that I was disappointed. I was hoping that I could probably talk to the owner of the trailer and asked if they say anybody near the river. There was a good chance the trailer had been up since yesterday morning, as it wasn’t easy to set up an entire camp. I had a feeling that the owner of the trailer would be somehow connected to this case. But of course, the investigation was still in its early stages, and I could have been easily wrong. But still, my gut feeling never failed me.

As I was about to leave, my eyes caught the high-definition camera that was mounted on a tripod and was facing the river. There was a large microphone attached to it. My heart raced in excitement. If Hillary and Dukakis waded on this part of the river, there was a good chance that the owner of the trailer could have taken a picture! I licked my lips and rubbed my hands in excitement. I knew I was on to something!

Suddenly, I felt the harsh winter winds blowing, and I could see my nose reddening immediately. My coat and boots were no match to these winds so I ran as fast as I could out of the riverbank.

* * *

“So, you saw a trailer in riverbank, eh?” I was sitting in front of Bush’s desk three hours later, chugging a hot cup of joe. He had offered me donuts too. I realized that it felt great to be working on the same side as Bush. I could see why Hillary had a soft spot for him.

“I did. With a camera and everything,” I said after finishing my coffee. “Do you think they…”

“They were planted to frame Miss Rodham? You’re not the only one thinking about that, Clinton. And based on what you told me, the camera had a microphone.”

“Yeah. What about it?”

“It means that the camera can respond to sounds,” Bush explained. “It can snap photos when it hears loud noises.”

“So wait a minute,” a realization dawned unto me, “if it can respond to loud sounds so it means…”

“Precisely. The chances of the owner of the trailer capturing the moment of the crime is quite high.”

I slumped in my chair, feeling like an ice bucket had been dumped into me. “Shit.”

“Shit is right, Clinton,” he said sympathetically.

“There’s a good chance they’ll call the owner of the trailer to the witness stand, isn’t it?”

“Damn right. I know it sounds like it’s an uphill battle right now, but I know you, Clinton. You’ve been in tighter spots before.” Bush’s vote of confidence gave me an odd sense of satisfaction.

“Thanks,” I replied gratefully.

“So until we don’t know who the owner is, what are you going to do?”

I thought deep and hard. “I guess I’d have to look for leads elsewhere. I have to find out what connects Hillary and Dukakis.”

“Ah. You don’t have to look that far.”

“Why is that?”

“Hillary and Dukakis were connected by the Dorothy Rodham murder case twenty-two years ago.”

* * *

Back in my apartment, I quickly opened my laptop to search for the case files of the Dorothy Rodham murder case in the FBI database. I thought that it was just a mere coincidence that the victim had the surname Rodham but I was jolted when I read in the news articles that Dorothy Rodham was Hillary’s mother.

Dorothy Rodham was a distinguished defense attorney back in the day. In a way, I could say that Dorothy was in the same league as Hillary right now, only that they were on the opposite sides of the court. When we were still in elementary school, Hillary would always talk about how she admired her Mom and show she wanted to be a defense attorney someday. It all ended when one day, Hillary became withdrawn from her friends, including me. She suddenly dropped out of school, and I never saw again until I faced her in court a few months ago.

I have always wondered why Hillary became a prosecutor instead of a defense attorney. I was stunned when I heard that she had already passed the bar and joined the prosecutors’ office. I knew there was something wrong in her decision. That wasn’t the Hillary I knew would have done. The Hillary I knew would have worked for a nonprofit like the ACLU, or some local organizations supporting women and girls.  There was something that had happened back then when the decided to detach herself from us.   
  
True enough, my suspicions were right. Hillary, her mother and a court clerk named Roger Stone were trapped in an elevator during the earthquake that shook New York in 1983. According to Hillary’s testimony, a disagreement between Dorothy Rodham and Roger Stone broke out inside, but she had passed out not long after. When she woke up, she was already in the hands of the first responders, and her mother was already dead, killed by a single gunshot wound in the heart.

I almost fainted when I read Hillary’s heartbreaking testimony. No wonder she was so withdrawn. I felt like I failed her. I failed her as her friend. I failed to be there for her when she needed be most. I tried to reason with myself. I didn’t know what happened, so how could have I done anything? But still, I felt that I was responsible for her complete 180.

The prosecutors have indicted Stone for the murder of Dorothy Rodham, despite the lack of evidence, specifically the lack of fingerprints on the gun. Eventually, Stone was acquitted, thanks to his attorney, Mike Dukakis.

Yes, the same Mike Dukakis who was murdered a last night.

Fuck. Hillary had the means and the motive to kill Dukakis.

This wasn’t looking too good.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I wanted to believe Hillary. I really did. But the circumstance was pointing her as the culprit. Could she have really killed Dukakis?

I shook my head. For a moment, I sounded ridiculous. Was I really doubting Hillary when I knew for a fact that she was innocent? I kicked myself for entertaining such thoughts in my mind. There was no way in hell Hillary would have done that. I would have won Miss Universe first before Hillary would kill anybody. No, no, no. She was innocent, and that was I intend to prove in court.

That is, if she chose me to be her defense attorney.

Oh fuck. I had almost forgotten. She hadn’t asked me to defend her yet! I checked my watch and it was already 4 PM. Visiting hours in the detention center was already over, and the state would have already appointed an attorney for her at this time. I was disappointed in myself. I let her down…again. Just as I did twenty-two years ago.

Looking back at my conversation with her earlier, she told me that she specifically didn’t want me anywhere near this case. What did that even mean? Did she think that I couldn’t handle the case? Was Bush lying when he said Hillary thought highly of me?

Twenty-two years ago, if you asked me what Hillary thought, I would know right away. I was more than her best friend, and she was closer to me than a sister. We did everything together – study, play, ride bicycles, fly kites, buy candy – everything. But now, I wasn’t sure. So much had changed in her, and we grew so much apart. But there was one thing had never changed: she was the kindest, smartest person I had ever known.


	5. Chapter 5

I wasn’t able to secure Hillary’s defense request, so when I attended the first day of Hillary’s trial, Bush was shooting daggers at me from behind the prosecution bench. I felt a little guilty for not putting much effort into Hillary’s case and completely forgetting to get her defense request. I got carried away by my research yesterday that I had lost track of the time. Looking back, I should have just pestered Hillary into accepting me as her lawyer.

As written in the court filing uploaded late yesterday, the state had assigned John Edwards as her attorney. I knew John Edwards. He was a classmate of mine back at Yale. Brilliant guy. A capable defense attorney. He used to give me a hard time in our moot court. I was able to breathe a little knowing that Hillary would be in capable hands.

When I took my seat on the defense side of the court, I saw Hillary looking beautiful as ever as the bailiff escorted her to her seat beside Edwards. Her face remained stony. Like yesterday, she was wearing all white. A white blazer over a white blouse and a white skirt. Her hair was still loose in her shoulders but was much polished and straightened than yesterday. I noticed that she was also wearing jewelry. If I had not known better, I would have guessed she was here for her own civil wedding.

Everyone rose when Judge Jimmy Carter had arrived. Judge Carter was one of the older judges in the district. He could be easily swayed sometimes, but he always made sure that the jury stays unbiased and makes sure they get the full picture of the case.  I had argued once before Judge Carter, and so far I had not been disappointed by his wisdom. He would be a fair in trying Hillary. So far, it looked like Hillary would have a fighting chance.

When everybody returned to their seats and settled down, Judge Carter cleared his throat.

“Court is now in session for the trial of Hillary Diane Rodham,” Judge Carter said.

John Edwards stood up and said, “the defense stands ready, Your Honor.”

“The prosecutor is ready, Your Honor.”

I knew that voice, and I was stunned to hear him in this very courtroom. Rudy Giuliani, Hillary’s longtime mentor, stood in the prosecution bench. His name struck fear in the legal circles, even among prosecutors. If Hillary was already seen as ruthless, she was nothing to the great Giuliani. In his forty years prosecuting, he had never lost a case. All guilty verdicts. No acquittals. I know it sounded there was something fishy about a prosecutor not losing a single case in court, but I have seen Giuliani in action. I had watched him in action during my law school days, and I could say he was the real deal. He knew his shit. He always had a counter-argument against the defense. It’s like he knew the defense’s every step. My colleagues from the Southern District told me that Giuliani wins through perfectly prepared trials. I amazement only grew. The fact that he remained in the Southern District baffled me. He could have been working for Main Justice right now, or even be Attorney General, but God knows what’s in his mind when he turned down all of those job offers.

That being said, the admiration I had for Giuliani turned into fear. Oh fuck no. If Giuliani was prosecuting Hillary, then she might as well be good as dead. Even though Giuliani had been her mentor and father figure, I doubt that he would spare her in this trial. I knew Giuliani was a cold, heartless, no-nonsense guy. There was no way that his feelings for Hillary would impede in his quest for a perfect prosecutorial record.

“Thank you, Mr. Edwards and Mr. Giuliani,” Judge Carter said. “I would like to begin with an opening statement from the prosecution, please.”

Edwards took his seat while Giuliani remained standing. He fixed his tie and walked around the bench to address the entire courtroom.

“Your honor, two days ago, Michael Dukakis, 65, of Manhattan was killed at the Bronx River by a single gunshot wound through his chest at around midnight of December 25. At the same time, defendant Hillary Rodham was seen boarding a canoe with Dukakis at the same time before he was reported to be shot. Therefore, it is the firm belief of the prosecution that Ms. Rodham murdered Mr. Dukakis – “

“Objection, Your Honor,” John Edwards stood up. “Unnecessary character assassination of the defendant.” Edwards was 100% right in raising that objection. There was no need to demonize Hillary. However, I wonder what Giuliani felt when he told the court that woman whom he treated as his own daughter murdered someone. Shame? Anger? Resentment? Whatever it was, I couldn’t tell because Giuliani’s face was devoid of expression.

Judging by Judge Carter’s expression, he too believed that Hillary had done it, but he didn’t let his personal beliefs get in the way of his professional judgment. “Sustained,” he said.

“Thank you, Your Honor,” said Edwards. If Giuliani was irked by the objection, he didn’t let it show.

“As I was saying,” continued Giuliani, “the prosecution believes that Ms. Rodham shot the victim. As to her motive, the prosecution is more than ready to establish that she had every reason to kill Mr. Dukakis.”

“Thank you for that succinct summary, Mr. Giuliani. Defense, I am giving you the chance to plead your case right now. Will you be pleading guilty or not guilty?” asked Judge Carter.

Edwards sighed before he gave his answer.

“Your Honor, the defendant will plead guilty.”

The entire courtroom let out an audible gasp. I, on the other hand, was numb with shock. My forehead felt cold. I felt like I was going to faint. So, it was true! Hillary did kill Dukakis! She fucking murdered him! She pulled that fucking trigger and saw Dukakis’ blood splatter all over the canoe and she stood there without remorse. And in even inside the courtroom, she showed no hint that she regretted what she did.  

Maybe she was the Demon Prosecutor after all. Merciless. Heartless. Soulless.

Or perhaps she didn’t have a heart or soul, to begin with.

Heartless Hillary Rodham. That same heartless girl who took pity on me when everyone was against me and trusted me even though I didn’t give her a reason to trust me. The same heartless Hillary who had faith in me and became my best friend and the first girl I…

Restless. I was restless and anxious. I didn’t think I could handle hearing any more of the terrible things Hillary had done. I needed to get out of this courtroom. Thankfully, there was such a commotion inside the courtroom after the announcement of the guilty plea. I decided to quietly slip away from the courtroom. I didn’t want to be involved in the case anymore. For my sanity, I should be steering clear from this as much as I possibly could.

I still felt guilty for abandoning her like that, but the guilt was less than the grief I felt.

* * *

Al knocked on my office window late that afternoon. I was quietly scrolling over some articles from Hillary’s trial that morning. As it turned out, the judge adjourned the trial shortly after I left and gave the jury instructions on determining Hillary’s sentence. Based on what I read, she could receive anywhere between ten to fifteen years. In my experience, she’ll likely get fifteen. That only made my chest feel heavier. I was not in the mood to work that day. I was already back at my office, but my mind was still on that courtroom. I left that fucking courtroom to distance myself from that case, but here I was, reading every article I could find and perusing all the transcripts and exhibits related to the case.

“Come in,” I told Al. He was carrying two mugs of coffee. He gave one to me.

“Thanks, Al,” I said appreciatively.

“So,” Al sat on the chair in front of my desk that was reserved for clients, “Some weird shit in the courtroom eh?” Al knew I was following the Rodham case.

“You could say that,” I took a sip of coffee. 

“Damn Rodham,” he shook his head slowly. “A brilliant prosecutor and all. Wasted her life just to exact revenge on the dude who acquitted her mother’s killer.”

I didn’t say anything. My eyes were on the floor as my thumb played with the coffee mug.

“And on Christmas Eve too! You’d think she’d be spending the holidays deporting illegals.” Al chuckled before chugging his coffee. I tried to bring myself to laugh but I couldn’t find the humor in his remark. I have never known Hillary Rodham to have such contempt for people she barely knew.

“Giuliani’s a fucking snake. Threw her adopted daughter to prison like that. You’d think he’d recuse or something…”

Damn right. Giuliani was another heartless piece of shit, just like his adopted daughter. The only difference was that Giuliani didn’t kill anyone. But the ruthlessness…the family resemblance was hard to deny.

Al went on to rant and comment on the Rodham case, to which I only responded with a “yeah” and “you’re right” to let him know I was listening. But truth be told, I was tired of listening to his rants. It’s not that I didn’t value what his opinions were. It’s just that I didn’t want to hear him pelt those harsh words against her, no matter how justified they were.

I decided just to turn down the volume of Al’s voice in my mind. He kept telling me rumors of defendants who were supposed to have been threatened by her and how half of the people in the correctional facility were there by her handiwork. I was getting tired of it, but I had no choice but to sit through his stories.

A voice screaming “CLINTON!” from the hallway woke me up from my trance, and Al sat in his chair stunned. The owner of the voice appeared in my window with an angry expression on his face. Bush, in his full rage, knocked quite forcefully on my door. Al tried to deny him entry, but I dismissed Al and he left us to ourselves. I closed the blinds in my office before offering the chair where Al to Bush. He and I needed to talk.   

“What the fuck, Clinton?” He finally exploded when we both settled down. “I thought we agreed you would take up Miss Rodham’s defense? Fifteen years, Clinton! She could face up to fifteen years!”

I couldn’t look at Bush’s eyes because I knew I was at fault. “I didn’t make the deadline.”

Bush’s eyes were wide in shock. “You what?!”

“I was too late, George. I ran out of time.” That was the best euphemism I could think of for “I forgot there was a deadline.”

“Jesus, Clinton,” Bush wiped his face in exasperation. “I thought you’re better than that!”

“Maybe I’m not as good as you think I am.”

“Good Lord! What has taken over you, Clinton?! I’ve seen you in court, and you’ve come out in holes deeper than this!”

“Well – “

“Or did you really think Miss Rodham’s guilty?” Bush shot me a dirty look. He wasn’t far off in his guess, but I wasn’t going to let him know that.

“It’s hard to convince someone who doesn’t like you to make you their lawyer.”

“Oh bullshit,” Bush dismissed my feeble excuse. “You are the only one who can defend her.”

“Why is that?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He asked with a mocking tone as if his point was clear as day. “You’re the only one who defeated her in court!”

“I –“

“Stop giving me that humble bullshit, Clinton. We all know lawyers like you are smug as fuck,” he said.

I wasn’t playing humble or anything. I really did forget that I was the only lawyer to date to have defeated her in court. I guess that distinction meant very little to me.

“So, by tomorrow, you get your ass back on the case,” Bush said firmly.

“Why? I haven’t decided that I’m on board with this. And besides, she has already pleaded guilty.”

Bush shook his head. “Nope. You will work on the appeal, Clinton. Do your homework. Make sure you have the case all wrapped up before you convince her to let you in. She’s like that. She likes it when people are in control of their case before they present it to her.”

“Okay,” I replied, but that didn’t mean I was gung-ho with this yet.

“And here,” Bush pulled a small piece of paper and handed it over to me. I unfolded the paper and saw the name Sarah Huckabee and an address written on it. I looked at Bush in puzzlement.

Bush let out a smug smile.

“I think she is worth visiting. After all, she does own a trailer that happens to be parked on the riverbank on Christmas Eve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and kudos and birthday wishes! You all made my stressful birthday a little more bearable. But it's just stress. ^_^
> 
> And we will know a little more about Bill and Hillary's backstory next chapter :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who read, left comments and kudos. As promised, Bill finally sheds light into their past!

_75 Williamsburg, Brooklyn. 75 Williamsburg, Brooklyn. 75 Williamsburg, Brooklyn._ I kept repeating this address inside my head like a mantra as I scanned the neighborhood the building that had a number 75. The chic boutiques, trendy cafés, and old-world style buildings were a sight to behold. Too bad I wasn’t here for the stunning views. I came here for serious business.

I checked out the streets for the building that I was looking for. Thankfully, it didn’t take me long, as it was just a few blocks away from where the cab dropped me. A charming, old-school apartment building bore the number 75. I walked up the steps and looked at the directory. Sarah Huckabee lived in unit 4018. I straightened my suit and took a deep breath. I hoped she was home.

When I reached unit 4108, I said a little prayer. I really didn’t know what to expect. I wasn’t even sure why I even followed this lead Bush gave me, but he said it was worth a try. Besides, I was the one who brought this up to him. It might be prudent to follow this lead when the FBI seemed to have abandoned it.

When I rang the doorbell, the door opened immediately and a woman who looked like in her 20’s emerged from behind. She seemed to be one of those trendy students, although she wasn’t the pretty sort.

“Hi!” Her Southern accent suddenly caught my attention. “How can I help you?”

“Hello,” I greeted. “My name is Bill Clinton and I am a lawyer.”

“Another Southerner! And a lawyer too!” She recognized my accent. Her eyes gleamed excitedly at the prospect of talking to a fellow Southerner. “What state are you from?”

“Arkansas,” I said.

“Wow, I am from Arkansas too! Oh, my manners. My name is Sarah Huckabee and I am a university student.” She held out her hand and I shook it.

“Nice to meet you, Sarah. I was born in Hope,” I said. “I moved to New York when I was seven, but I wasn’t able to get rid of the accent.”

“Amazing! I am from Hope too!” she said excitedly.

“Small world, eh?” I wonder what a university student from Hope was doing in the Bronx River on Christmas Eve.

“I know! I am so glad to see another Arkansan here in New York! Come in, come in!”

Sarah led me to her small but cozy apartment. Her apartment was small but very warm and homey. It reminded me of our house in Hot Springs. The kitchen was just behind the living room, and the dining area was adjacent to the living room. This place was more appealing to me than my own apartment.

“Hi, what do you want? Water? Coffee? Sweet tea?”

“Sweet tea, please and thank you.” The Southerner in me screamed for the last option.

“Alright,” Sarah seemed to be happy with my choice. She went to the kitchen to prepare my drink. “So, what brings you here, Mr. Clinton?”

“I just wanted to ask some questions, Ms. Huckabee. I hope you don’t mind, with your busy schedule and all…” I tried to use my Southern charm to good use.

“Ask away, Mr. Clinton! Is that for a case you’ve been working on?”

Sarah was sharp. “Yes,” I replied.

“Gosh, I do hope I’m not in trouble…”

“Oh, no, no. You aren’t,” I lied through my teeth. Technically, she wasn’t off the hook yet.

“Whew! I thought I’m in trouble or somethin’.” Sarah finished fixing sweet tea for both of us and she handed me a glass. She sat in front of me and took a sip of her own tea.

“Listen, Ms. Huckabee,” I tried to get down to business, “on Christmas Eve, were you on the Bronx River?”

“Oh my, yes I was,” she replied.

“I see. May I know what you were doing there? I remember seeing a camera with a microphone. It was pointing towards the river.”

“Oh!” Sarah gently covered her mouth with her hand. “I was there for a research.”

“Research?”

“Yes! I came there to capture shooting stars!”

Shooting stars eh? I thought people would use telescopes instead of cameras to capture shooting stars. But maybe she had her own methods.

“Alright. Did you see anything out of the ordinary that night? Maybe a boat crossing the river?”

Sarah racked her brains for any memory of a boat.  “I didn’t see. The surroundings were dark. If there was a boat, I couldn’t have seen them with my bare eye.”

I was a little disappointed with her response. To be honest, when I came here, I was a little hopeful that I would find something of relevance to the case. I really thought she had valuable information. But at least I kept my expectations low.  

“You seem down, Mister,” Sarah noticed the expression on my face. “What is it?”

I took a deep breath. She seemed nice. Maybe I should let her in on my mission. “You see, I am investigating the murder on the Bronx River.”

“Whoa, there was a murder there?! Where I had camp?!”

I was surprised that she didn’t know about it, given how frenzied the reporting on it was. Perhaps she was still in the holiday spirits, so she didn’t bother turning the TV on.

I filled her in with the basic facts of the case. The more I told her, the more fascinated she was. Her eyes gleamed as if she had found a gold mine. That wasn’t the reaction I expected from her. By the time I finished talking, she looked like she was going to burst in excitement.

“Wow, a murder happened just a few feet where I was! This is like in the movies!”

“Yes, that is correct.” I was a little bit irked by her reaction. The lives of two people were destroyed by that murder – Hillary’s and Dukakis’ – and her first instinct was to be amazed by it. I found her lack of sympathy stunning. But of course, I knew better than to let her know that. She was a potential witness, and I shouldn’t be offending the likes of her.

“Good Lord, this is surreal,” she said. “You said there was a gunshot, right?”

“Right.”

“My camera captures images after a loud sound. If it detected the gunshot, it should have taken a photo!”

Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Bush mentioned something about cameras taking photos after a loud sound. I think Sarah was thinking what I was thinking…

“Can you give me time to check out the photos? I haven’t checked them out yet since I came home from camp. Maybe it snapped a photo or two. If I see anything of interest, I’d let you know. How’s that?”

Wow. That was easier than expected. I was glad that I kept myself on her good side, as she proved to be very cooperative. I felt a little bit relieved. I set out for her, not knowing what to expect, or would I even have something to expect, and here I was, finding a new lead on the case. A small ray of hope has shone on the dark bowels of this case.

We continued chatting for half an hour or so. We talked mostly about Arkansas. We were in general agreement that despite what other people say, Arkansas was the best place in the world. Insensitive as she might have been, Sarah was a good chat and an easy haul. I now knew how to get to her good side. I might find that useful in the future.

Before I left, I gave her my card, so she could contact me if she saw something. As I stood up, my eyes darted to the leaflet on her coffee table that read “9/11: THE GREATEST HOAX IN AMERICAN HISTORY.”

* * *

Damn,” Al said when I told him where I had been. We were at the office, eating pizza. It was already after hours and we were taking a break from sorting some guy’s emails because the Feds have subpoenaed them. “You are really following this thing?”

“Bush entrusted me to handle her appeal. I got a lead. I am not sure where it ends, though.” I tried to downplay my participation in Hillary’s case.

“But man, if Rodham herself doesn’t want to appeal…”

“I know.”

“But why push?”

I shrugged. “Bush believes she’s innocent.”

“But what about you?”

I took a pregnant pause before I answered his question.

“When I visited her the day after the incident,” I said, “she was agitated and upset. And she was…frightened. She tried to mask her true feelings, but I wasn’t fooled by her intimidating tactics. She portrayed herself as someone who didn’t want help from someone the likes of me, but I knew she did. She was like a little-lost crying and looking for her parents. Except that she wasn’t crying at all. She was as cold and steely as I’ve ever seen her, but I knew there was a chip in her armor.”

“Damn, Bill,” Al’s jaw dropped, “I never knew you could read her like an open book. Is that why you defeated her in court?”

“I knew I could have used my knowledge of her personality to outsmart her, but instead I relied on good ‘ol sleuthing and real investigative work to win the case. I wanted to win that case for my client, not for my satisfaction.”

“So you have a knowledge of her personality? Why is that? Do you know each other or something?”

I regretted that slip of the tongue, but what was out was out. I guess there was no harm letting Al on my story.

“Twenty-two years ago, when we were in fourth grade, we were in the same class. Me, her, and Joe Biden.”

“Joe…as in THE Joe Biden? Your first client?”

“Yep. The same one.”

“Damn. This is going to be good, I can tell.” Al sat comfortably in his chair. With the way he was absorbing my story, he looked like he was watching a Mexican drama.

“One day, I wasn’t feeling well so I asked our teacher to excuse me from the gym. Our teacher gave me permission to skip gym class so I was left in the classroom to sleep. When everybody came back, Hillary’s lunch money was gone.”

“And let me guess…everyone thought you did it, didn’t they?”

“Yes, the did,” I replied. “They tried to make me admit that it was me, but I couldn’t admit what I didn’t do. So they held a class trial.”

“Oh, God. I couldn’t imagine what you’ve been through.”

I appreciated Al’s empathy, and it made me happy to know that I had hired the right person as my associate.

I continued my story. “I was crying while everyone pelted mean stuff towards me. My friends had abandoned me when I really needed them. But what hurt more was that they didn’t believe me when I said I didn’t steal Hillary’s money. I was really sad. I’ve never felt so alone.”

“Some friends,” Al scoffed.  

“So during the class trial, it was me versus the entire class, with the teacher acting as judge. I maintained my innocence, while my classmates argued that I was the only one without an alibi during gym class so I must be the culprit. No one listened to me. Even the teacher didn’t believe me. I was going to be brought to the principal’s office until…”

“Hillary rescued you,” Al finished for me.

“Yeah, she did,” I said as I fondly recalled the memory of Hillary standing up in her seat and silencing everyone with her strong demeanor. “She admonished everyone for accusing me of a crime without evidence. She went on to say that the burden of proof lies with the accuser, and if they couldn’t prove that I was the one who stole her money, they could not declare me guilty.”

“Holy shit,” Al gasped, “she sounded like a defense attorney!”

“That’s because she dreamed of being a defense attorney when she was a kid,” I explained. “She idolized her Mom, Dorothy Rodham, who was a famous defense attorney at that time.”

“I see. What happened to your trial then?”

“I was declared innocent by the strength of her argument. After that, we became very close. She became close to Joe too, who also stood up for me during the class trial. I owe it all to them.”

“Wow. So it was you, Rodham and Biden? The Three Caballeros?”

“You could say that.  And every day, we became closer and closer. She was more than my best friend. She was…”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait. Hold on, Bill,” Al interrupted. “When you said you were more than best friends, were you…?”

Al was looking at me, expecting for an answer, but I refused to give it. I wanted him to tell me what it was because I wasn’t sure if it was what I thought it was.

“Childhood sweethearts?”

I didn’t know the concept back then. All I knew is that I always wanted to see Hillary and I was always happy whenever she was, and I hurt whenever she hurt. My throat was suddenly dry, and my voice was gone. Thankfully, Al understood what my silence meant.

“Boy, you do have a history with her,” he said.

“Yes.”

“So why was she suddenly cold towards you? You kissed another girl or something?”

“It happened when Dorothy Rodham was killed,” I explained. She became withdrawn and isolated herself from us. I didn’t know what was happening. I was too young back then. I tried to get her to talk to me but she wouldn’t tell me. I lost my chance when one day, she dropped out of school without saying goodbye.”

“She…what?!”

“From what I heard from my Mother, she switched schools, but I didn’t know where she transferred to. I was a kid, so I didn’t know where to look. I was torn to pieces over her departure. It took me years before I became interested in other girls again. I didn’t have a girlfriend until I was eighteen.”

“You’re kidding!”

“I wish I was, but it was hard to remove her from my life after the impact that she had left. When I saw her again, I was surprised to hear that she is a prosecutor. I thought she wanted to be a defense attorney.” I then told Al what I found out a few days ago, about Dorothy Rodham’s murder and Rudy Giuliani.

“Shit, Bill,” Al remarked, “tell me this is all just a part of a movie.”

I shook my head. “Nope. This is all real.”

“Gosh, I can’t wrap my head around all of this. How come your head hasn’t exploded yet?”

I simply shrugged. I really didn’t know the answer to that question.

Al simply sat in there, a heavy silence shrouded us both. We both ran out of words to say, he because of the shock, and I because of the emotional exhaustion. This was the first time I told my story with Hillary to someone, and I didn’t expect it to suck the energy out of me. Maybe because I was still emotionally attached to Hillary. That was why I felt exhausted when I recounted our story.

Al, being a true friend, offered his hand to me. “Pal, if you ever decide to really pursue her acquittal, then I’m in.”

I didn’t take his hand, but I let out a smile instead. I felt the weight in my shoulders lighten just a bit. It still felt heavy, but nevertheless, it wasn’t as wearying as before.  


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, it's been a whirlwind of a week: heavy workloads, annoying co-workers and to cap it all of, FIRST PRIZE IN AN INNOVATION COMPETITION! I couldn't believe I managed to speak in front of people like a pro, and I am in cloud nine right now!
> 
> As a treat, I am uploading this chapter early. For the readers of Spoils, I am so sorry because I have several chapters written for this fic already. I promise I'll go back to it soon.

The jury didn't take long to decide on Hillary's sentence. They awarded her twelve years. Based on the court filings, they were a little lenient on her because she cooperative and this was her first indictment. The Southern District wasn't eager to talk about this case in the press because it involved one of their own. I wouldn't talk about it this much either. If I was a prosecutor in the Southern District, I'd sweep this under the rug as much as I could.

Per court filings, Hillary would be spending her time in the federal court in Brooklyn. She had requested that she be held close to home and the court graciously granted her request. I sighed in relief. She wasn't going to be sent to some far-flung prison in the other side of the country, like in California or Texas. If I were to really push through with the appeal, I wouldn't want her to be out of my reach.

I waited several days after Hillary was transferred to Brooklyn before I decided to visit her. On a Tuesday after the New Year, I had an early client call and we wrapped up just before lunch. Al went back to the office and I took the day off (perks of being the boss, you know). Before I drove to the federal facility, I stopped by a flower shop and picked up a large bouquet of roses. The store clerk gave me an approving look and said, "Your girl is so lucky." I didn't respond because I was not in the mood to correct him. But he kept cheering me on as I left the shop and I needed that because there was a good chance Hillary throw these roses on my face.

Then, I stopped at the dairy for a liter of chocolate milk. When we were kids, I remembered she always brought a bottle of chocolate milk for lunch. Specifically, Mootown's Chocolate Milk. Sadly, Mootown ran out of business years ago and so I just picked the best there was: Quick Milk.

At 3 pm, I arrived at the federal facility. The guards inspected the flowers and the chocolate milk and I was cleared. One of them, a guy in his 50's, was teasing me. "Good luck, kid. We're all rooting for you."

Why did everybody think I was courting Hillary?!

Another visitor, a middle-aged woman, probably in her 40's, noticed my frown. "Boy, you carry a bouquet and something chocolate. Of course, everybody will think you're courting a girl."

Ah. Of course. My common sense radar was off today.

Anyway, I waited for Hillary in the visitor's area. The visitor's area looked like a large school cafeteria with rows and rows of tables and benches. But there was no lunch line for food. Since it was already 3 PM, the place wasn't as packed. I saw an empty table in the corner of the room so I approached it and lay my small presents for Hillary.

Five minutes, which felt like an eternity, had passed since I entered the visitors’ area until Hillary emerged from the door, escorted by a guard. My hands were in my lap and my legs were shaking. My heart was beating the fast I could feel it thump against my chest. My nerves were getting the better of me again. I have been appearing in court for quite a while now and I thought I got rid of my problem on my nerves. I guess not.

When Hillary was already in front of me, the guard removed her handcuffs. She was wearing an orange jumpsuit and her hair was in a messy bun. Her face was clear of make-up, so I could see all the freckles in her face. She was as cold and stiff as the last time I saw her.

As she sat down in front of me, I caught her eyes glimpse the bouquet of roses and the bottle of chocolate milk. I swore I saw her excitement blip, and then she returned to her cold demeanor.

"Hi," I said.

She nodded in acknowledgment. So far, so good.

"These are for you," I handed her the bouquet and the chocolate milk, but she didn't budge. I looked like an idiot, and thank goodness nobody was looking at us. She stared at the flowers like they were somehow responsible for her being there. Her burning eyes shifted to me, and to be honest, I was pretty scared.

"Why are you here? And why are you bribing me with these...things?"

I tried to thread nice and slow. "I came here to check on you..."

"I can look after myself, thank you very much," she snapped at me. "I don't need your pity or concern, Clinton. I have my affairs under control."

I was tempted to point out that she didn't exactly have her affairs under control because she was sitting in jail, but I knew that would only make her combust.

"If you don't have any more to say, you can now leave. Even in prison, I don't have much leisure time as you," she said. That was her first direct shot at me, but I knew what she was playing. She was throwing insults at me so that I would be pissed and leave her alone for good. If she thought that it would deter me, she was wrong.

I remained calm but authoritative. "As a matter of fact, I do have something to say."

She seemed a bit flustered that I didn't budge. She simply looked at me, waiting for my next words.

I cleared my throat as I began to speak. I felt more confident than when I came. I felt that I earned her respect because I didn't blink first. I said, "I came here to talk about your appeal."

Her face soured. "Why do you care? It is between me and my lawyers."

"I am just concerned-"

"I told you, my affairs are none of your business!" Hillary barked a little loudly, and the other people in the visitors' area looked at us. Hillary didn't seem to mind the pairs of eyes gazing in her direction, but I felt a little conscious.

I tried to diffuse the situation a bit. "Please, Hillary-"

"Why do you care, Clinton?" she snapped at me angrily. "How many times do I have to tell you to stop meddling with my life? Or are you that petty to rub it in my face? That I am now at the bottom and you are the fucking king of the world?"

"No, Hillary.  I-"

"Get out, Clinton!" This time, she wasn't as loud as her outbursts, but her voice was so commanding that for the first time in my life, I feared her. She had this sinister quality in her voice that was unrecognizable from the little Hillary and the adult Hillary I knew. I didn't want to start trouble, certainly not in a federal facility so I obeyed her without question and left the visitor's area.

I took a last short glimpse of her before I left the room, and I saw her clutching the bouquet.

* * *

"That went well, didn't it?" Bush laughed as he chugged his bottle of beer. I called Bush after my disastrous meeting with Hillary and he invited me for a drink at the bar where he and his colleagues usually go. I invited Al but he and his girlfriend had a date that night.

"You can say that again," I took a swig of beer. "She is one tricky customer."

"What makes you think chocolate milk and roses would convince her to let you handle the appeal? This is Hillary Rodham we are talking about. The fastest way to her heart is her brain."

 

"Wait...what?!" I said in confusion.

"If you want her to trust you, you have to convince her that you have a good handle on the case. She isn't the type to trust blindly. She needs the backing of cold, hard facts."

She wasn't the type to trust blindly eh? That didn't stop her from trusting me blindly when we were kids.

"Also, you need to step up with your investigation," Bush chastised me. "Did you even go to the name I gave you?"

"I have."

"And...?"

"She thinks she probably has a photo or two. She'll call me if she has," I said.

"That's something. Not very encouraging, though."

“Nope."

I felt like a fucking fool. I was fucking proud when I tracked down Sarah Huckabee and got a lead, but Bush put me in my place. What Sarah had might not be very useful in the case. How could I be so dumb?!

"You're not really putting an effort into this, Clinton. I know you. If you set your sights on something, nothing will stop you. But this? You are hesitating."

I took another swig of beer. "To be honest, it's hard. It's hard when my prospective client herself doesn't want to open up to me."

"I see."

"And besides, I don't think she wants to appeal. She’s telling me that she's working on her appeal with her lawyers, but I know she's just saying that to make me back off."

“That’s odd,” Bush rubbed his chin. “She told me she is thinking of hiring another lawyer.”

“Did she?”

“Yeah. I was really worried about her so I visited her last week. She told me doesn’t like the facility and she missed her apartment.”

Somehow, I wasn’t surprised by the difference in Hillary’s treatment of us. After all, she trusted him more than anyone in the force. She knew that he had her best interests at heart.

“Maybe you can convince her to hire me. She listens to you,” I told Bush.

“That’s an idea. I’d bring it up the next time I see her.”

“Thanks.”

“Anything for you and Miss Rodham. As much as I hate to admit it, you are a great colleague,” he said. “I learned some investigating tricks from you. Like how you butter people up and act as if you're all interested in them so they will be willing to talk to you when you need information. I could really brush up my people skills.”

I almost choked on my beer. That wasn't exactly a compliment but I'd take it. And it wasn't only Bush who had grown out of our professional relationship. I too learned some tricks from him, like the use of luminol to detect blood and of course, the fingerprint powder, which I thought was methane when I first saw it. It really pays to know some science in doing detective work.

We spent the rest of the night laughing and telling stories, and by the midnight, he was already tipsy; I stopped drinking an hour ago because I was the designated driver. His nose was all red and he was yammering loudly about his Dad owning colorful socks. I was amused, to be honest. I was tempted to record him and blackmail him for it (and he can't charge me of illegally recording him before recording with the consent of one person is allowed under NY law) but I didn't want to get to his bad side. However, I could sure make fun of him for what he said (and didn't).

When Bush had already too much to drink, I paid our tab and pulled him towards his car. As I was hopelessly pulling him towards the exit, I heard a group of lawyers from a firm across the street talk about Hillary's case. They were making theories as to why Hillary did what she said she did. I let Bush sit on a nearby chair so that I could eavesdrop.

“There’s no doubt she did it because she is mad at Dukakis for acquitting her mother's murderer,” said the loudest member of the group.

“But why didn't she just hire a gunman?” said a blonde woman. “It’s less easy to implicate on her.”

“Maybe she had no intention to kill him,” proposed the Asian-looking lawyer. “Maybe it was really Dukakis who wanted to kill her and then she somehow got his gun and shot him.”

“She could have used the self-defense argument to minimize her sentence. But she didn't,” reasoned the blonde one.

“Oh yeah.”

“You're all wrong!” said the loud lawyer. “When you're mad with rage, the capacity to think disappears. She saw red. That's why she did it. She wasn’t called the Demon Prosecutor for nothing.”

At that moment, it was I who was starting to see red. I wanted to beat him to death for disparaging Hillary like that. He had no fucking idea what she could and couldn't do. I felt my blood pound in my head. My legs were carrying me to the table where the loudmouth lawyer was. I got closer and closer. The movements of his mouth were like a red piece of cloth, and I was an angry bull ready to charge. I could almost see hot steam coming out of my ears. My left hand was so tightly clenched that my nails tore the skin of my palm. My eyes locked with the bewildered loudmouth’s. Time stood still, and my hand landed squarely on his face. His nose received the brunt of my anger, and blood was sprouting in every direction.

I was huffing and puffing, adrenalin running in every last vein in my body. Time slowly began to tick again. The loudmouth lawyer, surrounded by his friends, stood up and wiped the blood from his nose and mouth. I think he screamed something along the lines of “What the fuck?!” and he shoved me hard.  I stepped back and I felt the edge of a table hit my ass. He was closing in on me. He was shorter than me, but he was leaner. He could definitely inflict pain on me, that was the least of my worries right now.

He spewed shit on Hillary, and he had to pay.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am having a writer's block on Spoils, so voila. Another update on my other fic. LOL

Al simply rolled his eyes when he met with me at the detention center. I was behind bars for a few hours after I punched that guy who was talking shit about Hillary. I called Al when the cops arrested me and he had to drive from his house in Jersey all the way to the detention center so he could post bail for me. I knew I could rely on Al, but I felt a little guilty for disrupting his sleep.   

"You just couldn't help yourself, can't you?" I knew Al was disappointed with my conduct, but he was still very supportive. "What the hell happened in there, anyway?"

"He's talking shit about Hillary," I murmured.

"What?" I didn't know if Al genuinely didn't hear what I said, or he was forcing me to admit my foolishness.

"He's talking shit about Hillary," I said louder.

"Aaaaaah, and you're playing the night in shining armor," Al clapped his hand on my back as we walked out of the detention center and into his car. "News flash, Bill: Chivalry’s dead."

"I didn't know what has gotten into my head, but I just saw red when he accused Hillary of being a murderer."

"The guy's not wrong, though," Al opened his door and slipped inside the car. "She has already admitted it. Under oath. Or is your grasp of reality failing?"

"I know, I know. I just have a hard time believing it."

"How's the appeal?" Al asked. 

I shrugged as I closed the door. "Bush says she wants to fire her lawyers. But when I tried to bring up the topic of the appeal, she becomes the She-Hulk."

I heard Al laugh in the background as he drove the car. I failed to see what was funny. 

"What?" I asked irritably.

"Ah, Bill Clinton. I thought you were a ladies man?"

"W-w-well, I was. Or so people say. I don't know what I am doing to make women come after me."

"Clearly. Because based on what you told me, she clearly feels strongly for you."

"Like she explodes whenever I come near her?"

"Obviously. But there is something much deeper than that," Al explained. "Either she hates you so much because you defeated her in court, or she still has feelings for you after all these years that she doesn't want you anywhere near her shit."

I remained silent. I really did not know what to say.

"And by the looks of it, you still have the hots for her. I bet you two are going to fuck if you're left alone in the same room." 

"Al!" I abhor the idea of anyone touching Hillary.

"Just you wait, Bill. I am not saying that you want her free because you want to bone her. I know you're better than that. All I am saying is that maybe you two still have unfinished business and this case might be your key to your closure. Or to your happily ever after."

My eyes hovered to the busy streets. How I wish I had never stumbled upon Hillary's case. Things would have been much simpler.

* * *

That night, I went out to the grocery to buy a six-pack of beer and some beef jerky. I could use a little pick-me-up after the last twenty-four hours that I had. I was craving for a little me-time, drinking beer and catching up on the episodes of The West Wing I hadn’t watched yet. My recent workload, coupled with my unofficial Hillary investigation, had been quite exhausting. I could have hired a hooker for a good fuck, but for some reason, I didn’t feel like it. I was too distracted by what was going on around me that a sexual encounter might just make things worse. And so, no sex for tonight. Just a quiet night for me and my pile of DVD’s waiting to be watched.

With a bag of groceries in my right hand, my left hand fished my keys from my pocket. I slipped the key onto the keyhole. When I was about to turn the knob, my phone rang. Shit. It could have been Dana Miller, the woman who had been recently charged with bank fraud and the last client to enlist my services. She could have been calling from the detention center because she was supposed to be moved to another facility tonight.

My hands were full so I couldn’t answer the call right away. I opted to enter my apartment first and ran towards the kitchen table where I placed my groceries. I quickly picked up the phone to my pockets, and to my surprise, the caller ID was unknown, but the number was definitely a cellphone.

I decided to take the call. “Hello?”

“Mr. Clinton! It’s me, Sarah.” That Southern accent was unmistakable. My heart began to sprint. If she was calling me, then it must have been about the photos I asked for.

“Hi Sarah. What’s up?”

“I called to tell you about the photos that you asked for,” she said.

“Oh! What about them?” Please, let there be photos, let there be photos, let there be photos…  

“Uhm,” she hesitated, and I could immediately tell that it wasn’t a good sign. At all. “I look at my camera again and again. I tried to check if it took photos on the night of December 24th and on the dawn of the 25th?”

“And?” I hated her long preamble. My patience was wearing thin.

“I got one photo. Just one,” she said.

Shit. Shit. Shit. I couldn’t believe my luck. Bush was right. She was a key to the case! I felt relieved that my work was slowly paying off. But on the other hand, I was slightly afraid of what the picture looked like. If it showed Hillary holding a gun, then her appeal was over before it began. There was no fucking way that she could get than guilty plea overturned.

But on the other hand, there might be something in that photo that the FBI and her defense had never seen before since she had already pleaded guilty before they had completed their investigation. Whatever the content of the photo was, it would be unwise not to check it thoroughly. I owed it to Hillary – and to myself – to get to the bottom of this.

“I see,” I told Sarah. “When and where can we meet?”

* * *

Sarah chose to meet me at Bucky’s, the Southern diner in the heart of Brooklyn. I wasn’t unhappy with her choice. I was missing Southern food a little so Bucky’s wasn’t so bad. She told me to meet her there at around 5 PM the Monday after she called me. She said her classes didn’t end until 4 and she needed an hour to commute from the university to our meeting place.

The last time I ate at Bucky’s was a couple of months ago when I defeated Hillary in court. Joe, although he was broke as hell, offered to treat me at Bucky’s. He knew I loved the food there. Treating me for lunch was the least he could have done for me as a sign of his gratitude, he said to me. I wasn’t going to let him pay, but he insisted. I owe him a debt of gratitude, but he acts as if he doesn’t know that.

When we dined, Joe and I reminisced about our happier times together with Hillary. We were both hurt seeing how our dear friend had become. The Hillary we knew would have admonished the Hillary we saw in court. I, in particular, felt a pang in my chest whenever Joe mentioned that Hillary had gone to the “dark side.” I didn’t think Joe realized how deep my connection with Hillary was when we were younger. Hillary and I would always play pranks on him and he never knew. He thought it was the fifth graders and he could never tell those kids off because they were bigger and older. He never found out that it was really us.

When I arrived at Bucky’s, I spotted an empty booth and occupied it. A waitress took my order (turkey sandwich and coffee) and not long after, I saw Sarah huffing and puffing in the doorway, carrying her duffle bag.

“Hi,” she said as she sat down in front of me. “Have you been here long?”

“No. I just came in a few minutes ago,” said Sarah. She called a waitress and ordered a cobb salad for herself.

“So,” she huffed when we were left alone. “I found this when I looked at the photos.”

She handed me a single photograph of the river. It looked nothing unusual, except for the boat in the middle of the photo. I had no doubt that it was the boat where Hillary and Dukakis were on.

“Incredible,” I gasped. “This photo holds the key to the case. But I can’t see anything.”

“I figured out that you would want an enlargement,” said Sarah, “so,” she got another photo from her duffle bag, “Here. Zoomed in at 15x.”

I flipped the photo towards me, my hands shaking, but all my fears turned into disappointment when I saw two faceless figures facing each other, one holding a gun and another who was on the defensive. The two people were almost of the same height and they both wore thick coats, so they were practically indistinguishable. Too bad I couldn’t deduce from this picture who was Hillary and who was Dukakis.

I couldn’t help but show my disappointment, and Sarah immediately noticed.

“I’m sorry if I couldn’t be of further help,” she apologized.

“That’s alright. You did your best. I’ll have to look for another lead elsewhere,” I said. “But would you mind if I ask you a few more questions? Maybe I can find something in your statement.”

Our food finally arrived, and Sarah happily answered my questions. As she said before, she was on the riverbank to capture shooting stars. When she retold her story, something didn’t sit well with me. I couldn’t tell what it was. I just had a nagging feeling that wouldn’t go away. But I saw no reason to disrupt her, so I let her on.

According to Sarah, she had left the campsite to go get some more supplies around 11 PM on December 24th. She arrived back at around 1 AM of December 25th. In other words, she was not at the crime scene when the murder had happened. She could corroborate her alibi with her shopping receipts and the testimony of the cashier who checked out her items.

Moreover, Sarah that she didn’t see anyone who was near the crime scene, so she did concede that there might be other people in the other parts of the river that she didn’t see.

My afternoon with Sarah wasn’t entirely useless, although my disappointment over her photo still stung. I was able to find new leads with her. I needed to check whether there were other people who were near the Bronx River on Christmas Eve.

I took care of our tab even though Sarah insisted that she pay for her share. The photo and the information she gave, while a little disappointing, was still valuable so I took the liberty of paying for her meal. Also, I wanted to befriend her, mainly because I didn’t want her to talk to the prosecution in case Hillary decided to push through with the appeal. Maybe she could hire me to represent her too in case she was called as a witness. I would be willing to represent her for free if necessary.

We parted ways and I went back to my office. There were still some papers I need to read. The case involving the Manhattan heiress, her husband and her trust fund was driving me nuts, but it poured a lot of money into the firm. Cases like these allowed me to take on poorer clients without the firm having to suffer financially. These cases were a pain in the ass, but it was for a noble cause.

When I arrived back at the office, I saw an expectant Al welcome me. He briefed me on what I had missed out when I was gone, which were mostly updates on my current cases, but the most significant was that Bush called him to say that he had left me a voicemail.

I hurried straight to my office and looked up his message on my answering machine. His gruff voice boomed in my office:

_ Hey Clinton. It’s me, Bush, I just want to ask you: Where in the hell did you buy that chocolate milk you have Miss Rodham? _

I couldn’t help but smile. I didn’t even need to finish Bush’s message to know where he was getting at.

Hillary liked my gift.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [Tealsky27](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tealsky27/pseuds/Tealsky27)
> 
> This is the last pre-written chapter I have. TBH, IDK when I'll be able to update because frankly, it's hard to be a one-woman department at work and your boss thinks you're dumb. -_-

Bush lent me the keys to Hillary's apartment. He took the liberty of maintaining her apartment now that she's in jail. I told her I wanted to investigate her movements before the night of December 24th. Bush was hesitant to oblige to my request, since we both knew it was a violation of the law to enter her apartment without her permission, let one search her stuff, but if I was going to prepare her defense for her appeal, I needed to know what she was doing. Since she wouldn't voluntarily give it to her, I had to do it covertly.

As a safety precaution, Bush had the security cameras installed in her apartment turned on. He would be reviewing the footage once I was done with my search. I also promised him that I would not leave the apartment in a mess since he spent his Saturdays cleaning the place and watering the plants.

I opened the door, anxious as to what I would find inside. I looked around, and I found myself staring in awe. Wow. This was a motherfucking paradise. Glass windows everywhere and I could see everything! Especially that beautiful New York City skyline! Fuck. This shit should be at least $10M. Damn. Hillary's one rich bitch. 

As what an experienced investigator does, I immediately went to her bedroom. Unlike the living room, the bedroom offered much more privacy. While the room was still surrounded by glass walls, curtains were hung to prevent intrusion. Her sheets matched the dull gray color of her walls. A small potted plant adorned her bedside table, and on its foot was a copy of Little Women. I found it striking, mostly because I just realized that Hillary never had any sisters. She was an only child, and losing her parents at an early age must have been hard for her.

Pushing the feelings of guilt and pity, I began my search inside her room. There was a desk located in front of the bed. I presumed that this was her working desk. A copy of the New York Times dated December 24 was neatly folded on top of her desk. I opened the main drawer and I found her bills, letters and other documents neatly stacked inside. Hillary had always been a very organized person, even when we were kids, and I was pleased to know that the trait remained. 

I pulled a stack of letters and began to read them one by one. There were correspondences from friends, university professors, and political figures. Nothing in those letters were deeply personal. The most intimate letter I had read was the letter in 1992 when Rudy Giuliani was giving her updates about his work and what was happening in their neighborhood, and that he was giving her permission to go to the beach.

After spending hours reading each of her letters, I neatly stacked and placed the letters back in her drawer. I didn't realize how much time had passed because the sun was high when I arrived at her apartment, and now it was almost dusk already. I switched the lights on so I could continue my investigation.

I opened the topmost side drawer, and curiously, there was a leather-bound notebook in there. I opened the notebook and upon opening, I stumbled upon the page where a folded piece of paper was slipped in. I opened the paper and I saw an unfamiliar handwriting before me:

_Hillary,_

_It has been twenty-two years. I know you want closure, and I can give it to you. We deserve justice._

_Meet me at the Bronx River at midnight. Come alone. Say about this to no one._

The letter was dated a week before the murder, and it was written anonymously. But I knew whose handwriting this was. It was Mike Dukakis’s! I was so sure of it! I have seen his handwriting in so many of the court briefs and notes that I’ve read. I worked with him on a previous case. I was so sick of his reading his handwriting that I wished I could erase the memory of his penmanship off my head. But now, I was glad that my memory had did not heed my wishes.

I have never my heart feel pound so hard. I could feel the blood pumping in and out of my head. I had just stumbled upon my first major clue! Hillary did receive an invite from the victim to meet with him at the Bronx River on the night of the murder. It meant that Dukakis could probably have an intention of harming her! She could very well be innocent!

But my logical mind was quick to douse the excitement I had been feeling. There was no way Hillary didn’t know who the sender of this letter was, despite the lack of a signature. If I could recognize the handwriting in a blink of an eye, so could she. She could very well device a plot against the man who acquitted the man accused of killing her mother. No matter how I looked at it, it was Hillary who had more to gain in murdering Dukakis but not the other way around. Why in the hell would Dukakis even want to kill Hillary?

I sighed, frustrated. The discovery of this letter only deepened the whole I was in. Just like with Sarah, I thought I had a good lead and not before long, the lead turns out to be a sham. The photo was useless, and this letter was pretty much useless too. It’s as if the universe was conspiring to keep all good evidence from me.

I was not thinking very clearly when I punched her desk. My fist landed on the copy of the New York Times, and I screamed in pain from the impact. But my pain was nothing compared to my frustration. It seemed that I was going in circles. For some reason, my eyes fell on the Times, and I read the most peculiar story:

**_Bronx Locals Chatter Over Mysterious River Creature_ **

_Residents near the Bronx River are in a flurry of chatter over the photo that circulated on the internet showing a couple posing in front of the river, and behind them was a misshapen, monster-looking that seemed to emerge from the river._

_“We heard a loud bang just before that photo was taken,” said Sylvia De Leon, 26, the woman who was in the photo with her boyfriend, Enrico Alonzo, 29._

_The publication of the photo online on De Leon’s Friendster account created a flurry of excitement online, with the number of visitors to the Bronx River spiking in the recent days._

_“Oh, it’s just all truther stuff,” said Georgina Kominsky, chief of the Bronx River Administration. “There isn’t a river monster in there.”_

_Nevertheless, Kominsky’s denial didn’t douse the enthusiasm for monster hunters and conspiracy theorists._

What the hell did I just read? My anger and frustration turned into utter confusion. This is probably the most garbage of NYT articles I have read, which was saying something because it had been publishing crap in the recent days. But nevertheless, it made me a little calmer after my almost meltdown.

But something in the article struck me. A loud bang was heard before the “monster” was seen….

I suddenly remembered Sarah’s microphone. She said it could respond to loud noises.

She said she was photographing shooting stars. But stars don’t make a sound.

The camera was pointed towards the river, not towards the sky.

OH SHIT.

I could feel my heart race again. For the first time, I had my eureka moment in this case. I was sure of it, this time. Panting, I grabbed Hillary’s notebook and scurried out of her apartment.

* * *

"You aren't looking for shooting stars!" I screamed when Sarah opened her door.

Sarah looked at me as if I was a madman, but I didn't care. I knew what she was doing that night at the Bronx River, and it wasn't to look at shooting stars.

"Excuse me?" Sarah said, looking a little offended.

"You're looking for the river monster," I said. "You had a microphone installed in your camera because you wanted to take a photo if the monster decided to reveal itself!"

The color on her face was drained. Her lips were as pale as her face. She looked like she was going to faint.

"Come in," she said, and I let myself inside her apartment.

I didn't wait for her invitation to sit on the couch. I didn't need to stay long, anyway. I just needed the truth from her lips. She sat in front of me, visibly shaken. 

"I want your answer, Sarah," I said. "You lied to me. I know you are looking for that monster. I saw your brochure about 9/11 being a hoax, and it let me believe that you have a penchant for believing outlandish stories. I am not the grand jury, but I am not going to let you continue lying."

"W-What will you do if I say that I wasn't really looking for shooting stars?" stammered Sarah. "It changes nothing.  Miss Rodham still shot that man in the boat."

She was right. Whatever Sarah was doing, it didn't change the fact that Hillary met with Dukakis and probably shot him. But lies beget more lies. If she lies to cover this, she must have a good reason to.

"Probably not," I said. "But nevertheless, you lied to me so that you can hide the fact that you are looking for that ridiculous monster. Why is that?”

Sarah was visibly spooked by my aggression. “That’s none of your business.”

“You can’t tell that excuse when you testify to the grand jury and believe me, I will drag you by the foot if need be.”

I could see that she was starting to break down. I was on a roll.

“So, Ms. Huckabee? Are you going to speak now when it is just us? Or are you going to wait until the court slaps you with a subpoena and then you will have to perjure yourself in front of the jury? What’s the punishment again for perjury? 6 years?”

 “STOP!” Sarah covered her ears, drowning out my threats. Her eyes were now moist, and I just realized that I was hovering in front of her and taking up her personal space. I backed off a bit so that she could breathe a little.

“Sarah,” I implored the woman in front of me. “The truth is much easier to tell than lies. So please do the right thing. If you saw something else, please let me know. If you need protection from the law, I can help you.”

She looked at me like she needed help.

“There’s a second photo,” she barely whispered.

“Where is it?” I said, infinitely calmer than I was earlier. “I need to see it. If you show it to me, you can count on me to protect you.”

“I can’t pay you. I don’t have any money.”

I knew she was going to say that. “That’s alright. You don’t have to pay me anything. All I ask is your truthfulness.”

Sarah nodded, controlling the flow of her tears. She excused herself and ran to her laptop, which was sitting on the kitchen table. In a matter of minutes, she was handing me a newly-printed photo. It was that of the Bronx River. Unlike the first photo, this one was empty. No boat, no people. Just the river. It was time stamped at 11:33 PM

That’s before midnight!

“I-I-I thought I would get in trouble if the authorities knew of this photo,” she said. “I didn’t kill anyone. Please believe me.”

I just stared at the photo. This was an incredible lead! It meant that a loud sound was heard on the river before midnight. And that loud sound could very well be a gunshot.

And if Hillary arrived right before midnight, she couldn’t have done it!

I looked at Sarah, who was still shaken.

“Thank you for telling the truth. If you say you didn’t kill anyone, then I believe you. As your lawyer, that’s my job. And any of our conversations regarding the case will be safe with me.”

Sarah gave me a thankful look as she watched me leave.

* * *

When I got home, my body was exhausted, but my spirits were high. This day had been a breakthrough in my investigation. For the first time, I found out that there could possibly be two gunshots that night, one after midnight and one before. This was the opening I needed. Maybe if I dive further, I could find something definitive to prove Hillary didn’t kill Dukakis. I had been hopeful many times in this case before, but I have never felt so much faith until now. There were times when I doubted Hillary’s innocence, and I really regretted having done that.

I took a quick shower and reheated my leftover TV dinner from last night. I took a quick dinner before jumping on to my bed, determined to find out more about the case before I went to bed. 

I opened Hillary’s notebook where I found the letter. Her writing was very different from the childish scrawl I remember. Her strokes and loops were so beautiful that they looked like art. I spent around five minutes admiring her handwriting before I realized that I was getting sidetracked. I needed to read what was inside her notebook.

I flipped a random page open and I found an entry from November 17th. She said that she was having a hard time flipping a witness to turn against his colleague who was accused of laundering money. She said that the witness insisted that she was innocent, and so was her colleague. Hillary said that she tried to dangle the fate of the witness’s brother, who was already charged with racketeering, but the witness maintained that she couldn’t give what she didn’t know, and she couldn’t implicate a person who was innocent. The witness’s resilience frustrated Hillary. She was sure that the witness’s colleague was guilty.

The passage made my stomach flip. I knew Hillary was extreme in her prosecutorial tactics but reading out loud that she illegally blackmailed a witness to get her guilty verdict made he sick. My admiration for her soured. I felt conflicted. At this point, it was already hard to deny that my old feelings for her were coming back, but the Hillary I was seeing today wasn’t anymore the Hillary I knew before. She had changed too much. The young Hillary would have been disgusted if she found out her older self was coercing witnesses illegally for the sake of a guilty verdict.

Nevertheless, I still believed that she was innocent of the crime she was paying for. I didn’t believe she would resort to violence herself. Or at least, a part of me hoped that she didn’t. Reading her diary made me doubt her again, but at least, this time, there was some shred of evidence to back me up.

With my emotions finally drained, I decided to finally retire for the night. I gave the notebook one last flip, and curiously, I stumbled upon an old picture. It stuck out against the rest of the notebook. It was the only thing that was tattered and yellowing in that journal. I pulled the picture out, and I saw the faces of Hillary, Joe and me smiling brightly in front of the camera. I remembered this. Hillary’s mom took this photo of us on her 10th birthday. We celebrated her special day at the park. In the photo, Hillary was in the middle. Joe’s arm was hanging over her shoulder, while my hand wad holding hers, our fingers laced against each other’s. I was clearly smitten, and she was too.

I sighed. 

Hillary wasn’t the only casualty of the Rodham murder case.

I was too.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if it's all investigations at this point. We'll come to court soon. =))))

“Good job, motherfucker,” Bush’s praise wasn’t exactly what I needed to hear, especially when I was in front of Al, but I appreciated it. I was glad that someone was giving validation on my work. I know Hillary wouldn’t. She would be furious if she found out I read her journal. To be fair, I would be mad at myself too. She could even charge me with breaking and entering but I was clinging on to the belief that I could set her free to make her decide against suing me. I bet she would sue the hell out of me and make me go broke. 

“Thanks,” I said. “Now I need to know where the second gunshot came from." 

“The murder weapon matches the ballistic markings found in Dukakis,” said Bush. “But what doesn’t make sense is that the murder weapon is missing just a bullet. I bet someone replaced the bullet in order to mislead us.”

“I see. Where was Dukakis found anyway?”

“In the same boat where Hillary was,” Bush explained. “His body was sprawled and all bloody.” 

“Did Hillary say she left it that way?”

“No,” Bush replied. “When she was being interrogated, she looked like she was going to faint whenever the topic of Dukakis’ body came up.” 

I rubbed my chin. “She doesn’t look like she wants to talk about that.” 

“Prosecutors think her reaction is a side effect of PTSD. I’d say she is just reminded of her mother’s murder. That’s why she didn’t want to discuss it.”

My throat constricted when I imagined Hillary being surrounded by prosecutors, like a human being preyed by a pack of wolves. But I didn’t let Bush see my momentary lapse.

“So,” I pretended nothing had happened, “how are we going to find the missing bullet?”

“It’s as good as finding a needle in a haystack, Clinton,” replied Bush sadly. “We don’t even know if it came from the same gun, or if it’s even related to the case. We have to look at this from another angle."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I figured Bush would say that. We had no clue where the second bullet was fired, so narrowing down the location would be impossible, but I wasn’t giving up that easily.

“If the gunshot was heard by Sarah’s camera, then it must be in the perimeter of the river,” I said.

“Correct. The only problem is that if the bullet entered the water, finding that is next to impossible.” 

“We still don’t know that yet. We can search for the bullet on land within a three hundred meter radius from the camera. If we didn’t find it, we can assume that it’s underwater now.”

“Makes sense,” Bush conceded.

Looking into my laptop, I searched for a map of the Bronx River and printed it. I marked where Sarah was camping with a red X. I drew a circle around it, representing the three-hundred-meter radius. And what do you know, a shack was covered within our circle of interest.

“What is this?” I asked Bush.

“That? That’s the boat rental shop. He was supposed to be a witness at the trial but Miss Rodham pleaded guilty so he wasn’t called anymore.   

This was the first time I have heard of him, and I was a little pissed that Bush didn’t even mention him to me before. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

Bush shrugged. “He is a witness for the prosecution. He told us that Hillary personally transacted with him while she waited for Dukakis. He also saw Hillary disembarking the boat alone.” 

“So she was first to arrive, huh?” I said.

“Yes, and then Dukakis arrived not long after.” 

“Was she sure it was Dukakis who came to see her?” I asked pointedly.

“She said yes. She didn’t see his face nor heard his voice but his hand bore the same scar as Dukakis,” replied Bush.

I scoffed. “You and I both know that’s flimsy logic. I can easily prove that the man Hillary met isn’t Dukakis.”

“I know,” said Bush sadly, “but Miss Rodham already pleaded guilty. The prosecution didn’t bother exploring this anymore.”

I plowed my hair in frustration. “Hillary’s smarter than this. A good defense could have easily destroyed the prosecution’s argument? Why the hell did she plead guilty?”

“For one, nobody wanted to defend her,” supplied Bush, glaring at me. Oh right. This was on me. I didn’t make it to the deadline. Otherwise, she would have had a lawyer who would duct tape her mouth so that she couldn’t plead guilty.

“W-well, why didn’t the state defense lawyers allow her to?” I deflected.

“Do you think they didn’t bring that up to her?” Bush knocked some sense into me. “I was there in the room, and they did try to convince her to fight these charges. But at the end of the day, Miss Rodham is as hard as a fucking rock. She didn’t want to fight so she basically raised a white flag.” 

I have to admit, Bush put me in my place, and rightfully so. He made a valid point. “Sorry.” 

“It’s alright,” he said. "Comes with the job."

I took a deep breath to calm myself down. "So, despite her lawyers' advice, Hillary still chose to plead guilty. That's odd, considering that she is well aware that she could fight those charges. Did she tell you why?"

Bush shrugged. "No. She was as tight-lipped as she could be. If I knew, I would have told you right away."

"I see. What if she gave up just because she knew Giuliani would be prosecuting?" I mused. 

"That seems possible but she didn't even make a deal with him. If I were her, I would definitely make a deal with him to reduce my sentence. But she chose to accept the maximum sentence. Talk about being a masochist, right?"

"I suppose she was properly vetted as being in her right mind?" I hated to think that Hillary was not fit to make decisions for herself, but at this point, I was leaving no stone unturned. 

"Yeah, the court psychiatrist evaluated her beforehand and she was deemed mentally capable," supplied Bush. 

A part of me was relieved to know that Hillary was okay, but the rest of me was silently cursing. Hillary made it fucking sure it was impossible to appeal, and yet she seemed she left the door open on that front. She made it clear that she was looking for another lawyer, but if she had no plans to appeal, why the plan to switch?

I rubbed my face in exasperation. "Fuck, Hillary doesn't make it easier for me."

Bush chuckled. "When does she? You should get used to it now. She gave you hell in court. Why should this be any different?"

"I swear, I think the universe gave her to me to punish me for my bad deeds in my past life."

"Oh, don't say that. I am sure she's not there to torment you," he comforted me, "after all, she kinda turns into a Mama Bear when you're concerned."

"What do you mean?" I raised a confused brow. 

"I told Miss Rodham about what happened in the bar a few days ago.”

I buried my face in my hand as I sighed exasperatedly. “Oh God. Why did you have to tell her that? It’s embarrassing.”

Bush barely managed to hide the grin in his face. “Embarrassing is right. She says you’re a total fool.”

“Of course she does.”

“And then she hit the guy who was eavesdropping on us. On the balls. With her knee," Bush recalled amusedly. 

"Wow. Go, Hillary. But I fail to see the Mama Bear part."

Bush's grin widened. "The guy then spewed trash on you and then she stepped on his foot and poked his eyes. I never knew she's very well-trained in self-defense."

"Ouch," I felt pity for the guy and at the same time, I felt giddy that she did what she did.

"She spent a day in isolation. Scary shit. But she's a toughie. The guy who eavesdropped wouldn't come within 10 feet from her."

I suddenly felt bad for Hillary. She didn't have to do that. It could jeopardize her appeal. But I knew better than anyone that it would be unwise to impose on her. 

"You're conflicted," Bush caught my exact emotions. 

"Well, yeah," I didn't bother hiding from him. "I need to distance myself from this case. At least, emotionally. If I were to mount her legal defense, I need to be impartial. My feelings shouldn't affect the facts."

I caught Bush gaping at me with a smile on his face. 

"Damn, I wish I recorded that so I can show it to Miss Rodham," he said. "There's no way she can resist that."

I sighed and looked away. I didn't want to dwell on it much, but Bush's pep talk really helped. I was roaring get back on track on the investigation. 

"So," I said, "What's the name of the owner of the boat rental shop?"

* * *

There was nothing out of the ordinary when I arrived at the boat rental shop. The sign said OPEN but there seemed to be no customers inside, as the door was closed and everything, except for the winds, was silent. I knocked twice before hearing a soft voice saying "Come in". I turned the doorknob and inside, I saw a confused old man sitting behind a counter. 

"Good morning," I greeted the old man. "Are you the owner of this boat rental shop?"

"Aye, Sir," he said gruffly. "I also sell pasta."

I looked around. There weren't any tables for anyone to eat on. I didn't see any kitchen either. 

"My name is Bill Clinton, Sir. I am a lawyer..."

"Criminal?" He asked. 

"Excuse me, Sir?" I said, puzzled.

"Criminal lawyer? Corporate? Family? Labor?" he enumerated. I was struck by his question. 

"I deal with a lot, Sir," I said. I was still intrigued by his peculiar question. 

"I see. You must be a smart kid, considering you passed the New York bar," he said. "Where are my manners? I'm sorry. I'm Keith Cobain."

"Nice to meet you, Keith," I shook his hand. "Listen, I am going straight to the point. There was a murder here a few weeks ago, and I am just wondering if you can tell me what you saw."

Keith’s face soured, and his fists clenched. “You gonna interrogate me like those fucking feds?”

I could feel that he had a dislike over the agents and prosecutors who had questioned him, and I decided to prod him a bit. “Tell me what happened. Were they horrible to you?”

“You bet!” he exclaimed in his Bronx accent. “Fuckers, that’s what they are. They questioned me for hours and then bye! Ta-ta! Fucking ingrates. They treated me as if I did it! _‘Why were you in your shack last December 24 th?’_ THIS IS MY FUCKING SHACK, MOTHERFUCKERS! This is my property! Don’t I have my right to my own property, eh? Do these fuckers understand the fucking Fourth Amendment?!”

“That’s insane,” I sympathized with him, noting his sharp understanding of the law. “They could have been violating standard witness handling procedure.”

“You bet, sonny!” he pointed his finger triumphantly, happy that he got an ally in me, “I am going to file a complaint when I get my ducks in order!”

“That’s a smart decision,” I egged him on. “You should.”

“You bet, I will!”

“How did they interrogate you, by the way?” I delved deeper.

Keith scoffed. “They questioned me for hours. Fucking disrespectful. I’m an old person. I need breaks once in a while!”

“You mean they questioned you for hours straight?”

“Yes, sonny!  That cowboy was particularly annoying.”

Cowboy…was he referring to a Texan? “Cowboy…you mean a Southerner?”

“Yeah. His accent is not the same as yours, but I know a Southern accent when I heard one. The old owner of this shack was from Alabama. Oh, God bless Jeff Sessions’ soul.”

“I see. Does this _cowboy_ slurs his words?”

“You bet!” Keith replied enthusiastically. “You know him?”

I knew it. There was only one Southerner in the FBI NY Field Office who slurred his words.

“I do,” he said. “I don’t’ disagree with you, though. He has a hard time speaking long works. Like _nuclear proliferation_.”

“Ay-ay-ay,” Keith shook his head. “Not a very bright guy, is he?”

I wouldn’t say Bush wasn’t bright. He just had a difficulty speaking clearly. But I wasn’t going to correct Keith on that. I wanted him to keep talking.

“And there was this fucking prosecutor!” Keith shifted his complaint. “What an asshole!”

This was the first time I heard about Giuliani. “What about him?” I asked.

“Fucking asshole,” he spat. “He thinks I am a fucking kid! I know shit!”

I wasn’t surprised when Keith described Giuliani as an asshole. The higher a lawyer climbs up the ladder, the more of an asshole they become. That’s true across the aisle.  That’s why I had Al to keep me in check.

“So,” I said, “What did you tell Giuliani?”

I noticed that Keith was getting pumped up, and there was nothing I wanted more than a loose cannon witness. “I told him everything I knew, and when I was about to get on to some topics, he fucking shut me up!”

A prosecutor silencing their witness? That was strange. “What did he ask you about?”

“He fucking asked me to tell him about that woman when she rented the boat. When I was about to tell him that she didn’t have a gun on her, he cut me off! What a dumbass prosecutor!”

I immediately took note of what Keith just said. “She didn’t have a gun?”

“Hell no,” Keith said. “How could she have a fucking gun?! She looked more frightened than a cold kitten in the rain!”

So, Keith said Hillary was afraid. If that’s so, why did she choose to meet with Dukakis? The more I learned about this case, the more confused I become. Each lead I pursue led to more questions than answers. At what point would the questions stop sprouting?

“And then what?” I asked for more.

“If she was fucking scared when she came, she was fucking terrified when she got back,” Keith said.

Keith went on to say he only heard one gunshot, and he was inside his shack the whole time. When I asked him about his alibi, he pointed to his pet parrot, Nydia, who I noticed just now. He was feeding and talking to Nydia the whole time. That kind of alibi wouldn’t sit well with the jury, so I pressed him for more.

“Are you sure you don’t have anyone to confirm your alibi? Like another customer or someone you talked to during the time of the crime?” I asked.

He shook his head again. “Nope, sonny. I was all alone with my beloved, Nydia. Isn’t that right, my sweet?” He left the counter and stroked Nydia, who seemed content by the affection her master was giving her.

“Hello, Nydia!” said Keith.

“Hello! Hello!” the parrot replied before squawking.

“Good girl, Nydia. Have we forgotten something?”

“Don’t forget DL-6!”

What a weird bird. What the hell was DL-6?

Keith seemed to have forgotten that there was another person in the room because he became creepily attached to the bird. He was almost kissing the animal, and I felt uncomfortable. He seemed like a normal guy at first glance, but a little digging showed that he might be a little nutty. Not wanting to break the intimate moment between Keith and his pet, I left the shack without saying goodbye.

As I walked back to my office, I felt confident with the progress I had made. I had done my homework and I was ready to move to the next step.

I needed to talk to Hillary.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...what are your thoughts? Did Hillary kill Dukakis? And if not, who do you think killed him? I'd love to know!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A break from the investigation. A little fluff and a whole lot of angst.

On my second trip to the federal facility, I came prepared. I had a folder with the results of my investigation so far and a large jug of chocolate milk. I had shown my research to Bush first for an initial opinion, and he thought my work was solid. The existence of the second bullet wasn't in the FBI's findings and we were confident that it would be the lead that we were waiting for. He was sure that I could persuade Hillary this time. I too was brimming with confidence. I know she would let me handle her case this time. My gut was telling me so. 

When I arrived at the facility, I requested a room that was used for attorneys and their clients. Bush had a buddy inside the facility and he approved my request. I then asked for Hillary, and just like the last time, the jail guards almost went pale when I said her name. Even inside prison, Hillary could strike fear into the hearts of men.

When I entered the room, for some reason, my confidence suddenly vanished, and my stomach twisted in knots. I tried to calm myself by walking around the room, but it did a little help. I didn't know why I was like this. I was so sure of myself a while ago. What the hell happened?! A few minutes ago, I was a hotshot lawyer. Now, I felt like a teenage boy who was about to nervously ask the girl he liked to prom. I guess the parallelism wasn't too far out. In both instances, I was asking her to trust me, and it would sting if she said no. 

When I heard the door creak open, I suddenly stopped pacing and buttoned my jacket. I straightened my tie. It's show time

Hillary emerged from the door wearing the orange jumpsuit for inmates. She wasn't looking too enthusiastic about this meeting. There was a hint of annoyance in her face. If I was her, I would be annoyed too.

"Hi," I managed to say. I held out my hand for and she grudgingly took my hand to shake it. I knew she was trying to crush my hand because her grip was strong, and she was squeezing the bones of my fingers. The pain came, and I winced, trying to conceal the painful sensation. However, I couldn't miss the softness of her hand. I was like holding the hand of a baby, and this particular baby was hellbent on annoying the hell out of me so that I would back off. No. Not a chance.

We both sat opposite each other. I couldn't miss her quick glance on the chocolate milk. An idea suddenly popped inside my head: she would only get the chocolate milk if she signed the defense request. Until then, the large jug would serve as her visual torture. 

"So," I took a deep breath. "How are you, Hillary?"

"Not prosecuting and currently failing in life," she replied cheekily, but without a smile on her face. 

I tried to whip a smartass reply of my own. "Actually, I've been doing that my entire life so there's two of us." 

Hillary let out a cough. I could tell she was suppressing a groan. Her eyes swiftly glanced at the chocolate milk again. 

"I'll go straight to the point," I said, my voice suddenly sounding business-like. "My first meeting with you did not go very well. So now, I want to pitch my services as your lawyer for your appeal."

Her face soured. "I respectfully decline your offer."

"I reject your decision, or at least until you hear what I have to say," I said. I was as calm as I possibly could but there were still some nerves trying to get the better of me. 

She scowled at me. "I have a right to my own lawyer. You can't force yourself into my affairs."

"Correct," I replied. "That's why I am asking you to give me a chance to prove myself to you."

"I don't wish to do that either," she said flatly. Technically, she was right. I couldn't impose on her, so I tried appealing to her logical side. "Hillary, I come here to show you that I am capable of being your attorney. I can take your case and work on your appeal."

"And then what?" she spat, "you're going to have access to everything that has ever happened in my life and then blab to the whole world what a terrible person I am? Well, newsflash, Clinton, the NYT, and the National Enquirer are already doing that. Or did they send you to spy on me?!"

I tried to remain calm. "You know as well as I do that this conversation and all those that will arise due to this case are protected by attorney-client privilege. If I spill even a teeny-tiny detail, I will get disbarred. If, as you say, I am a greedy man who wants nothing but court victories, being disbarred doesn't bode well for my plans, doesn't it?"

Hillary pursed her lips, which meant I won this round.

"I cannot have you as my lawyer," she said.

That last sentence struck me. The way that she said it was...curious. What did she mean by that? Was it an innocent slip or were those words exactly what she meant? That she could not choose me?

Choosing to ignore her, I flipped the contents of my folder until I reached the portion of my new discoveries. I pushed the folded towards Hillary. 

"Here," I said. "I have been investigating for the past couple of weeks and I have made quite a progress. I believe that there is a way for us to win this case."

She didn't respond, but she skimmed the new material I gave. Her lightning-fast eyes absorbed the contents of my report so fast that all I could see were blurs. Within minutes, she was done. 

"So," I said. "What do you think?"

"A first grader can do a better job," she said. "You still are a rookie, Clinton, no matter how many cases you’ve won. There is no substitute for experience."

“I do not claim to be an experienced lawyer, Hillary. Though I want you to accept my defense. Bush told me that you want to appeal-“

“Which may not happen, because I am still thinking about it,” she interrupted, “and if I do decide to appeal, I’d rather represent myself in court, seeing that you’re the only option I have. That is sloppy investigatory work that you did.”

My nose flared. I was more annoyed by her stubbornness than by her insult. "You'd never survive a fucking day! Not with Giuliani prosecuting you!"

"Good. I'd rather go to death row!" She angrily slammed the folder. 

She was beginning to get on my nerves again. My nervousness had vanished and was replaced by frustration and annoyance. "Why the fuck am I wasting my time with you?! You'd never pick me anyway!" I said this in jest while I wiped my face in exasperation. I immediately regretted what I said but of course, I couldn't say that. My pride was refusing to yield.

Hillary let out a triumphant yelp. "Finally! You fucking got it! Maybe if you aren't so much of a gullible person, you wouldn't have been accused of stealing my lunch money in the first place! And I wouldn't have needed to save your crying ass from the rest of the class,” she spat. “Now I know why you want to defend me all of a sudden. You think you’re such a messiah, don’t you? You think that I will entrust my fate to your hands for old times’ sake? Because I once saved you in a class trial and you’re doing this a payback? News flash, Clinton: this isn’t the movies. This is real life, and that means you don’t get to butt into my affairs. So stay the fuck out of this mess!”   

Hillary was standing up her face red and her chest heaving. I’ve never seen so much emotion in her. I knew Hillary was out to get me, and she did. Her last words crawled deeply under my skin, and it shook me to the core. I didn't know she hated my guts all these years. She was a damn good actress then. She made me believe that she was my friend, and more. All this time, she fucking hated me. 

I refused to show any expression on my face. I didn’t want to let her know that she had succeeded in her mission to push me away. I was sick of appeasing her. If she wanted to rot in jail, so be it. I was tired of thinking of her, of trying to make her happy. If she wanted to be a miserable bitch for the rest of her life, then so be it. I was not going to stop her anymore. She could die for all I care.

I silently packed my things while she watched me do so. I left the jug of chocolate milk, though. She could have that fucking drink. If she got food poisoning from it, then good. She was full of shit, anyway.

I walked away from her. I felt that her eyes were following my every step, but I couldn’t care less. No amount of her pleading could make me go back to her. It was time for me to stop chasing her. She clearly didn’t want to be found, so why waste my energy on her?

I was barely a few feet away from her when I felt the ground shake. I thought it just because of huge trucks passing by the facility, or a construction nearby, but the tremor persisted, and it quickly gained strength. The tremors were so strong that I fell on my feet. I turned my head and I saw that Hillary to fell. I quickly crawled towards the table, my heart pounding harder than the ground.  When I under the safety of the table, I saw Hillary curled into a ball, crying. I shouted her name, but she was rooted on her spot. She seemed frozen and incapable of moving at all. I looked up and I saw that the air-conditioning unit, which was above her, was already unstable. I called her again, but she simply remained there, crying. I was getting scared that she might get crushed by the AC, so I pulled her onto the table with me. She was still curled into a ball, but she clung to my shirt. I shielded her with my body, and just as I did so, the AC unit fell, debris flying everywhere.

It was a miracle that I wasn’t hit, otherwise, my back would be struck by the scraps of metal. After the longest two minutes of my life, the earthquake had stopped, and everything went back to normal. My heartbeat slowly returned to its normal pace, but I remained jumpy at every sound or motion around me. Hillary was clinging onto me like I was like a rope dangling in a cliff. She wouldn’t stop crying. My lungs constricted, and the strings of my heart tugged painfully.

Minutes after everything had calmed down, the door flew open and several jail guards emerged. They were carrying first aid kids. They went on to check Hillary, but she wouldn’t let go of me even though she had already stopped crying. The guard patiently called Hillary, but she wouldn’t respond.

“Hillary,” I whispered in her ear.

She groaned. I took it as a sign. “The guards are here to check on you. You’ll be alright.”

My words seemed to have assured her. She looked around to check if the coast was really clear. When she saw the guards, she looked like she had seen a ghost.

“Hillary,” I called her again, “they will take care of you. Alright?”

Before she could answer, her face suddenly went pale. Her skin turned ice cold and her she became limp in my arms. All of sudden, she lost consciousness. The two guards sprang into action. They took her off her arms and began to perform first aid. I too wanted to help them, but I didn’t know what to do. I had no intention of letting her go out of my eyesight so I followed the guards when they carried her away from the room and into their first aid station.

All throughout the time she was being tended to, I was at her side. As I watch her being treated, I suddenly remembered the words she said to me a few minutes ago.

_You think you’re such a messiah, don’t you? You think that I will entrust my fate to your hands for old times’ sake? Because I once saved you in a class trial and you’re doing this a payback? News flash, Clinton: this isn’t the movies. This is real life, and that means you don’t get to butt into my affairs. So stay the fuck out of this mess!_

The words still stung. As I gazed at her, I realized what she said was true. I did see myself as her savior, and this instance wasn’t an exception. Why the fuck was I still here? She didn’t need me. She didn’t need saving. I was sticking my nose into her affairs too much. If she wished the past hadn’t happened, there is nothing I could do but respect it.  

Without another word, I left the first aid station and the facility. For the first time, the possibility of quitting law entered my mind.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's making a cameo in this chapter?

I was gasping for air as I lay in my bed with Farrah, the woman I hired to sleep with me tonight. The trauma of the earthquake and the sting of Hillary's words were too much for me to bear, I needed some relief. Farrah was panting too, and she gave this dreamy smile which told me that she was more than satisfied with my performance. However, the same could not be said for me. Don't get me wrong: I too came hard, but the moment I pulled out, I felt empty, like all the happiness had been sucked out of my body with my seed. Maybe this trauma wasn't as simple as I thought. Maybe Farrah would be sleeping with me more often in the immediate future.

Once Farrah and I have regained our strengths, I got up from the bed and took my wallet from my bedside drawer. I paid Farrah and she got dressed and left. I liked her, mainly because she didn't try to push me away and was appreciative of my advances. She was completely unlike Hillary. That got me thinking: my relationship with Hillary these days, for a lack of a better term, was toxic. I tried to bring the best out of her, and she always tried to bring me down. I am no therapist, but I knew that it was time to cut her loose. The events earlier made me realize that she wasn't worth it, that I would be better off leaving her alone. After all, she wanted no part of me. I should only return the favor.

Letting go of Hillary wasn't going to be easy. She was still embedded in my system. But I could do this. One day at a time.

* * *

_I woke up a full day after the earthquake. I had vague memories of the event, but I could clearly remember the images of the last earthquake that claimed my Mom play inside my mind. My head hurt, and my temples are pounding like large drums. When I came to, i found myself in the infirmary. I looked around and saw other inmates being treated. My mouth was dry and my throat hurt. A nurse found me awake and immediately attended to me._

_"Miss Rodham," said the nurse, "my name is Angie. We're glad that you finally woke up. How do you feel?"_

_"I need water," I said. "My throat is dry."_

_"Of course."_

_Angie left shortly to get me some water, and during her absence, I was able to recall what had happened before I passed out. I had a screaming match with Clinton and he walked out on me, but not before the earthquake struck and the next thing I knew was I was clinging onto him like life itself. First the Dukakis murder and now the earthquake. The traumas of my past were coming back to haunt me. The universe is clearly punishing me for my misdeeds. If not, I don't know what it is._

_Angie came back with a cup of water, and I drank it eagerly. My throat was still dry._

_"Dr. Turner Grey will see you in a moment," said Angie. "Do you need anything else?"_

_"No. Thank you. I am fine," I said._

_Angie smiled at me before she left. I felt my stomach twist in knots. My guilt was acting up again. Whenever someone did me an act of kindness, I shut them down because I knew I didn't deserve it. There are a lot of other people in the world who are more worthy of receiving love and kindness than I am, yet the universe somehow finds a way to rub it in my face._

_I was sorry for what I did to Bill. I really was. I didn't want to say those hurtful things but I had no choice. I was surprised that he dug up stuff and interviewed people. What he did was A+ work, and I knew a good defense attorney if I saw one. The moment he fired his first shot during our first and only trial, I knew he was going places, and he did. Seeing him flourish to the defense attorney he became was the fairy tale I was content of watching but wanted no part of. I didn't want to be an obstacle to his happiness, or anyone else's._

_I looked around and caught Bush's eye. He was assisting the prison staff in the infirmary. He saw me too, and he gave me an angry look. I knew he wouldn't say anything at me, but those eyes told me more than any word could. I felt sorry for him because he worked so hard to keep me comfortable and happy, but what I did to Bill clearly upset him. I needed to make up to him somehow. I better start thinking._

_But for now, I needed to rest. My body was tired, and so were my spirits. But then again, I still hadn't recovered from my emotional trauma 22 years ago._

* * *

My morning commute to the office today was an uneventful one. A bunch of Bohemians were singing in the train. A homeless man was sleeping on the foot of the stairs leading to the subway and the sewers were infested with rats. These were normal sights to an everyday subway commuter.

And my life had begun to go back to normal again. No more extra excursions to the Bronx River. No more interviewing witnesses for a case I had no part of and no more reading court filings during the weekends. I didn't know how much of my free time was consumed by Hillary's case until I realized that I had nothing to do on weekends and was bored. Since Farrah would be arriving tonight, I thought I might cook dinner for her, and probably we could eat before she left. Or she could take it home. I was just thankful for her companionship. She helped make me cope with finally letting go of Hillary.

I decided to make pot roast for her. I prepared the seasonings and the stuffed the meat into the slow cooker. The dish looked amazing and I couldn't wait to taste it when it was all cooked. Just as I was done cooking, I heard a knock on the door. I opened it and saw Frank, the mailman. He handed me an envelope which came from the federal facility in Brooklyn. I had clients who are currently locked there, but I knew this letter wasn't from any one of them.

I didn't realize that my feet was carrying me to the kitchen when I ripped the letter open and found another sealed envelope. Unlike the first envelope, this one had the address and the addressee written by hand, and a shock surged in my veins when I read where it came from:

_Hillary Rodham, Esq._  
_Cell 4212_  
_Federal Penitentiary, Brooklyn,_ _N.Y._

I was suddenly clutching the letter like my life depended on it. I was mad at myself because I was supposed to get rid of her by now but I jumped on her like syrup on a pancake the moment she signalled that she wanted to talk.

I looked to see if anyone was watching, and when nothing seemed out of the ordinary, I began reading:

_**Bill,** _

_**I just want to apologize for those unwanted remarks a few weeks ago. I am not going to justify what I said. I knew it was wrong. You can hate on me all you want. It's just fair. But I still wanted to make it up to you. Bush told me that you hire Madam Gertrude's women, and there is this woman that you like. I already hired her for you. This is on me. You wouldn't be so** _ _**_**upset** _ ** _ _**_**_**i** _ ** _ ** _ _**_**f** _ ** _ _**I didn't say those** _ _**_**horrible** _ ** _ _**_**_**things** _ ** _ ** _ _**_**_**_**to** _ ** _ ** _ ** _ _**_**_**_**_**you.** _ ** _ ** _ ** _ ** _

_**Again, I am sorry.** _

_**Hillary** _

_**P.S.** _ _**If you still have it in your heart to talk to me, I will be happy to. I owe you a** _ _**_**civilized** _ ** _ _**_**_**conversation.** _ ** _ ** _

I blinked, stunned at what I just read. If not for her handwriting, I would not have believed she said this. This was not the Hillary I talked to a few weeks ago. The letter was real, but to me it seemed like fiction. I couldn't explain it, but I was not 100% sure about this letter. I decided to leave it on the kitchen table where it belonged.

That night, Farrah came. She already knew what to do so she wasted no time revealing her luscious breasts to me. She was gifted, and I liked women who were blessed with big breasts and wide hips. My hands were always attracted to her curves. Her hands, meanwhile, could aways be found in my cock, and this was no exception. She had already unbuckled me and was stroking me while my tongue gained entrance to her mouth.

We fucked hard that night. She came multiple times already, but towards the end, I had a problem finishing. Farrah accidentally called me Billy, and that threw me back twenty-two years ago when I was still called Billy. And who was the one who called me Billy the most often? Hillary. Or rather, _Hilly_. I didn't think my name was special, but it sounded magical when she said it.

During the entire time Farrah and I were fucking, Hillary was in the forefront of my mind. I suddenly remembered that she brought Farrah for me. I suddenly hated her for doing that, for inadvertently setting me back in my goal of moving on from her. I was convinced that she was playing mind tricks on me. That letter and this faux regret was all just a ploy to mess with me. I would have deal with her later.

But for now, I concentrated on finishing. Farrah was squirming beneath me, unaware of my predicament. At least she was having a good time, but I really needed to finish soon.

I squeezed Farrah's hips. My fingers suddenly remembered the sensation when I was holding Hillary under the table. My hand fit perfectly against her curve. I could also recall how snug she held me back then. I never felt so alive. No one had clung onto me like that. No one had needed me more than she did. And that thought opened my mind's eye to the image of me fucking Hillary as she squirmed like the cunning snake that she was. But the image of eyes tightly shut, breathy moans from her throat and an endless litany of my name was enough to send me over the edge, my seed spilling forcefully inside the condom.

Farrah and I were both panting when we came down, and we were exhausted than usual. Farrah asked if she could use my shower, and I let here. During the time I was alone, I pondered on what had just happened.

For the first time, Hillary was in my sexual fantasies. I was angry at myself for allowing it to happen. Before, I considered her forbidden, not to be subject of sexual desires. I thought she was pristine and pure, and any dirty thoughts would just corrupt my memories of her. I even abhorred the thought that anyone would have sex with her. I couldn't bear it. She was like a crystal, never meant to be broken.

Or perhaps I just couldn't imagine her with the sweet, innocent face that I remembered. But now I had met her again in the flesh, everything changed. She was no longer the sweet, charismatic, energetic girl who had dreams of saving people from the errors of the law. She was now the tough, straight-talking, sexy prosecutor who was every criminal's worst nightmare.

But what hadn't changed was her big, blue, beautiful eyes that could pierce your soul. It was the same orbs I always got caught strating at, only that the fire behind it was lost. It's like she chose to die a long time ago, and she was actually her corpse.

My train of thought suddenly haunted me. Fuck. I promised myself I would move on, but I found myself digging an even deeper pit. This was the first time she entered my fantasies, and I knew for a fact that it would take a long time for her to leave. I only had a taste of one, and I wanted more. What's worse was that I wanted the real thing.

I closed my eyes. I suddenly remembered the letter that she sent me. _ **If you still have it in your heart to talk to me, I will be happy to**_. There was no way in hell now that I would be meeting with her again. There was a good chance I would pounce on her if I did.

I rubbed my face. I really need to find another career. Anything to keep my distance from her.

* * *

_"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH"._

_I opened my eyes, my sweat cold as ice. There was it again. The dream. The dream where I hear a gunshot and a scream. It had been hunting me in my sleep for a long time now, like the boogie man. Never was a day that this dream didn't visit me. It had been my nightly companion for years. I thought it would all stop when I tried to take the necessary steps, but it didn't. Instead, it became worse. Before, I had been dreaming the same version of a dream: a gunshot followed by this scream. But recently, the scream was more piercing and it made my skin crawl. There were times where I even heard a second gunshot, after the scream. I was getting more and more confused. These further details that weren't there before muddied my perception of what had happened before. I started questioning whether I really saw what I saw, or whether I was in the right state of mind._

_I think I needed to relocate. I couldn't anymore stand New York. Throw me in Alcatraz or in Gitmo. Anywhere but here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think of Hillary's cameo? Do you think I should be adding her thoughts more? Let me know!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Hillary cameo was a hit! We may be seeing more of her in the coming chapters...

_Pennsylvania is entirely different from New York, but this is what I need right now._

_I requested to be transferred to Pennsylvania following the earthquake in New York. It wasn't hard to grant my request since some parts of the facility were damaged from the 6.7 magnitude earthquake. Some inmates needed to be relocated, and while my cell wasn't damaged, I still volunteered to be transferred. This caused quite a headache to my new lawyers, a mom-and-pop firm outside of NYC who hadn't heard my reputation of being an attorney crusher, because they had to travel back and forth from New York to Pennsylvania. I was a little guilty for the added strain on them, but I tried to assuage myself by reminding myself that my legal bills cover their travel expenses. But since I was only retaining them just in case, their work with me was minimal, though the risk was still there. A little bird told me that since Dukakis' murder was related to my Mom's murder, they were reopening the investigation, thus the need for a new set of lawyers._

_To be honest, though I pleaded guilty, and rightfully so, I still didn't know what happened during the night I met Dukakis. He jumped off the boat when he fired a shot towards the river.  I really thought he was going to shoot me next, but he jumped i to the river and was gone. I was shaking to the core. I almost died once before and now too. When I got back to the bank, I didn't see anyone when I passed by the boat rental shop. That's why I was confused why Mr. Giuliani had the owner of the shop as a witness. Maybe it was one of his tactics again; I have known for years that he used to fabricate evidence but no one would ever believe me in the Prosecutor's Office if I told them. But then again, I might be too absorbed in my own thoughts that I didn't notice him at all._

_I had been seeing a therapist for quite some time now, and she had been helping me deal with my trauma. She said that I was having these dreams because I didn't know what happened in the past and in the incident months ago. So, I took steps to find the truth, at least on the latter. I hired a private investigator to do the investigation, without the constraints of the bureaucracy. And so far, I think they on to something._

_I asked them to start with the rental shop owner. They said he was quite addled, and he had a parrot who he called Nydia. He told them the owner had a safe in his shop and he always went home at 6 PM._

_I ordered them to break the safe open. I don't know, but my gut instinct tells me he important in more ways than one. So far, they made several attempts to break into the safe but the combination was quite tricky. They tried to investigate the owner's background but they came up empty._

_But there was something that caught my attention. The rental shop owner's parrot was named Nydia. What a curious name. My gut was telling me something again. It wouldn't hurt if I look for anything related to Nydia in my mother's case, so I ordered the private investigator to search. My heart jumped when the investigator submitted the report of their findings. It turned out that Nydia was the name of the fiancée of the accused in my mother's murder, Roger Stone._

_I was only dealing with circumstantial evidence at this point, but my gut instinct led me to a new lead. I knew I was finally going somewhere. This development led me to think that there was more than that shady shop owner meets the eye. With that it mind, I had another set of instructions for my investigators. I knew it wouldn't be easy, but I hope they could carry out soon._

_Nobody knew about this secret project of mine. Even Bush. I knew I would only get an earful from a lot of people if they found out what I had been doing. But I needed to do this. I needed to do this for myself. I knew pleading guilty was the right thing to do, but I have the right to know what happened._

_I owed myself that._

* * *

I got home from the federal facility in Brooklyn exhausted, pissed and disappointed. I should have known that Hillary was playing tricks on me. She said that she was willing to talk to me and all that. I wanted to talk to her before I finally decide to engage talks with George Stephanopoulos, a Democratic campaign strategist, about working for his firm and leaving my practice to Al. But when I visited her, I was told that she was already gone. She was said to have transferred to the federal facility in Pennsylvania. When I became aware of that, I felt like I was sucker punched. It wasn't the first time Hillary tried to do this, but I promise myself it would be the last.

But still, I wasn't as petty as she thought I was, so I pulled my phone and dialed Bush's number. He must have maintained contact with her.

"Hello?" Bush said on the other line.

I slumped on my bed. "Hey, Bush. It's me, Clinton."

"Oh. You called," he didn't seem too enthusiastic. "What's up?"

"I tried to visit Hillary earlier, but she was already gone," I was surprised how forceful I was, almost shouting. "I've been had. Again."

"No, buddy. It wasn't like that," Bush tried to defend Hillary, but I could sense that he wasn't as enthusiastic as he was before. “Miss Rodham requested a transfer.”

That was the first I’ve heard of it. “Where?” I asked.

“To Pennsylvania. She isn’t happy here because most of the inmates in the prison were there because of her. Hateful stuff and all. You know…”

Oh right. I didn't realize that sooner. Deep within my loathing for her was a tiny feeling of pity. She deserved what she got after getting those wrongful convictions, but her condition was still pitiful.

"I'm going to tell you something," I said.

"What is it, pal?"

I took a deep breath. "I am officially giving up on trying to help her. I am sick of pursuing her. She acts all high and mighty and invincible. She thinks she doesn't need help even though it's obvious that she does. And when I tried to offer her help, she makes it look like she's doing me a favor."

I heard a sigh on the other line too. "I know, pal," Bush replied. "I got very mad at her when I found out what happened last time. You know, before the earthquake. I have stopped visiting her before she requested the transfer to Pennsylvania."

My anger at her refusal and fake remorse made me forget how she was like during the earthquake. She was so raw and vulnerable. I hadn't seen her crumble like that. The way she clung to me told me she was calling SOS to the skies.

"Hey, pal. You still there?" Bush snapped me back to reality.

"Yeah, yeah, I am. I am just figuring out what to do."

"Did you just tell me you don't want to help Miss Rodham no more? Why do you need to do anything?"

I closed my eyes as I took a deep breath. "You're right. Muscle memory, I guess. I need to get over this. The illusion is over."

"I'm sorry pal,' Bush proverbially patted my shoulder when he said that. "I know you still have feelings for her and you may have thought you two may have a chance. To be honest, I thought so too. I didn't expect she would be so stubborn."

"Thanks," I replied. The lump that formed in my throat wouldn't go down. "Listen, I am seriously thinking of leaving my law practice..."

"You what?!" Bush blurted out from the other end of the line. "Why made you think that?"

I rubbed my forehead, my headache clouding my mind like a storm. "I...I lost my motivation. I know I a lot of my clients need me right now, but I know Al can take those cases from my hands."

"Wow," Bush said. "I mean, not a good wow. Just..."

"I know," I replied sadly.

"Where are you going then?"

"I have been offered a job at a campaign consulting firm. I don't look like it but I am good at talking to people and campaigning."

"Hey, I know you are good at connecting with people," remarked Bush, " I see how you interact with your clients and I just know you're a natural. But campaigning? Do you have experience in that area?"

"Well, not really. But I am willing to learn and I know it's something I will enjoy."

"Damn, pal," said Bush. "I will miss your ass in court."

Bush's last remark made me chuckle. "Me too," I replied. "I wouldn't have won my cases if not for your diarrhea of the mouth."

"I remember that," Bush recalled fondly. "When you won your case against Miss Rodham, I thought she's going to fire me the next day. My knees were shaking when I entered my office. She scolded me for not brining my case files with me. Of course I didn't bring them because I was expecting I'd be given the boot. But she told me to get my ass back to the investigation. Mind you, it's not the first time I fucked up. But whenever I do, she scolds me like it's nobody's business and she kicks my ass back to the crime scene. I know she's not fluffy and all, but I know that's her way of saying she believes in me. That her faith in me is unshakeable."

I lie in my bed, unexpectedly touched by Bush's story. The lump in my throat was harder to swallow than ever before. I fought tooth and nail to stop tears from escaping my eyes, but it was a battle I was losing. For the first time, I fully saw the Hillary I remembered and loved all those years ago. Beneath the steely demeanor and the coldness, Hilly was there.

"Pal? You still there?" Bush asked for the second time.

"Fuck!" That's it. I finally broke. I cried like a goddamn baby on the phone with Bush. "This is so fucking hard."

"What's hard?" Bush asked.

"Letting go," I said. "Just as I thought Hillary's hopeless, you tell this goddamn sob story and then I am back to considering taking up her defense again. Fuck you."

"It's alright, pal," Bush said. "Let it out."

"I am back to square one," I said. "I don't know what to do."

"Well, I don't know what to do, man," he said. "But I do have a question for you."

"What?"

"Ten, twenty, fifty years down the line, will you regret not taking Miss Rodham's defense?"

My answer was a simple one. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My boss is back from her maternity leave so I am hoping I could write more often!

I was at the Southern District of New York Attorney's Office for plea meetings the whole day. One of my last clients, a bank executive who was a target of a money-laundering investigation, was ready to plead guilty. Actually, he wasn't open to it at first but the fear of losing every penny and putting stress onto his family became his motivation to talk to the feds. I was trying to convince him early on to not fight the charges, but the bastard thought he had a fighting chance despite my advice. I knew that he was in deep shit, but his head was way too high in the clouds. It was only until recently that he realized how much trouble he was in, so he decided to raise the white flag to the feds. 

"Whew, what a day," said Agent Donna Shalala, patting my back with a folder that she held as we emerged from the meeting room. "I could really use some hotdogs on a bun right now." 

I chuckled.  "Your comfort food?" 

"Damn right," she said. "My husband, he's a chef a local restaurant. My God, his sausage is the best..." 

I grinned at the silent innuendo. Unfortunately, Donna noticed. She whacked my head with the folder she was holding. 

"Take your mind out of the gutter, Clinton!" she pretended to scold me, "I'm a lady!" 

"Sorry," I apologized. "But the way you wax poetic about his sausage..." 

Donna rolled her eyes. "Men. Always thinking with their heads that weren't attached to their necks." 

"I kid, I kid," I said. "So, we're good now? I'll wait for the paperwork on the plea deal so we can run through it." 

"You got it, Clinton," Donna winked. "I don't know why your client waited this long to plead. He could have enjoyed the sweetest deal had he not waited this far out." 

"I don't know, but I did tell him. Apparently, he thinks he can get away from all of this unscathed. This is a mostly paper case. The evidence is in the records." 

"Rich people think they can get away with everything," Donna remarked with a hint of annoyance. "I'll see you when you have reviewed the deal?" 

"Alright," I nodded. "See you, and thanks." 

"Thanks. See you around." 

I watched Donna walk across the large hallway until she was out of sight. When I came to, I heard familiar voices in the background, one that of an authoritative female, and another from a warm, folksy Southern male. I turned around and to my surprise, I saw Hillary, in a pantsuit, reading a binder with Bush scurrying to keep up with her. Behind them were two large men who I assumed, based on their uniforms, were jail guards. 

I had half a mind to say hello, but then again, I didn't want to get things awkward so I decided against it. However, Bush had another mind. I heard my name from the opposite end of the hallway, and it was impossible to ignore. 

"Clinton!" Bush called me, his hand waving in hello. Hillary, on the other hand, was silent yet observant. 

"Hi there," I said in a fake cheery voice. I simply decided to ignore Hillary. I did not want any more drama or tension. I could tell that she was taking note of it. 

"What brings you here?" asked Bush. I knew he was pretending that there was nothing going on. 

"Plea meeting," I replied. 

"Ah, the Manhattan Triangle case," Bush said. "Your client should have seen the writing on the wall. There's no way he'll survive that." 

"I know. But I can't do anything with a hard-headed client. He's wasting his bucks if you ask me." 

"Yeah. Maybe unanimous conviction of his pals was enough to scare the bejeezus out of him. He doesn't have anyone left." 

"Not to mention, all of them are willing to cooperate against him if he didn't flip," I added. Hillary was giving me a gaze so heated that it would surely make anyone melt. I was barely holding together I had to admit: she still had an effect on me. But I needed to breathe. I was really itching to ask her what she was doing here, but I didn't want to open a conversation with her. 

Bush seemed to know what I was thinking. "I see. Well, Miss Rodham and I just came from a strategy meeting with the prosecutors who took over her cases. Despite her, uhm, status, she is still given a say about the cases she previously handled." 

I tried to ignore her but Bush clearly angled the conversation in a way that would make me inevitably talk about Hillary. "Is that so?" I said innocently. "Good for her." 

Bush was clearly annoyed at my lack of interest. Hmph. If only he knew how much I was struggling not to ask everything. 

"Well, I better get going," I said. 

"I'd like to speak with you. Privately," Hillary suddenly spoke, surprising us both. 

Bush and I looked at the jail guards following her, asking for their permission. Hillary too was giving her guard a pleading look. 

"You can record our meeting," Hillary said, assuring her jailers. "But I assure you, you can't use it in court because of attorney-client privilege." 

Both my jaw and Bush's jaw dropped on the floor. Hillary was blatantly lying to her jailers! 

After one of her jailers seemed satisfied by her assurances, they gave her thirty minutes with me. 

"I'll leave you two to yourself," said Bush, patting my back for good luck. 

I was led towards an empty meeting room, different from the one I had just been minutes ago. Hillary sat on one end of the large round table, and I on the other. The jailers swept the room before they left us to ourselves. The air inside the room was stuffy, but it wasn't because of the humidity. I could barely breathe, knowing that we were alone and just a few feet apart. 

Hillary cleared her throat. "First of all, I want to personally apologize for the way I treated you last time. I shouldn't have said those things." I noticed that she wasn't looking at me, and that told me that she was sincerely guilty for what she did. "I was being a cold-hearted bitch." 

For some reason, I couldn't look at her either, so I was playing with the pen right in front of me. "It's alright. I'm sorry I made you upset." 

"You didn't," she choked, much to my surprise. "You were so gracious. And I didn't want that." 

I looked up, and I saw her eyes looking at me. 

"Why?" was all I could say. 

"I didn't want you anywhere near this case," she answered, "not because I didn't think you could defend me. On the contrary, I have always been impressed by your lawyerly skills, even if it led to my prosecutorial defeat. The reason I didn't want you is that I was didn't want you to get entangled with my mother's murder. It's a fucking mess, Bill. I didn't know what I was thinking. I should have gently said no from the very beginning instead of being a bitch to you." 

My heart pumped faster when she called me by my name. She was talking to me heart-to-heart. 

"I knew you wanted to get into the case from the very beginning," she continued, "but I couldn't. It's not that I didn't value the friendship that we had. It's just that you might find the ugly truth." 

"What do you mean?" I asked as panic rose in my chest. "Did you kill Dukakis?" 

Hillary looked at me with an uncharacteristic calmness. "No. I didn't kill Dukakis. I swear to God life that I didn't." 

"Why did you plead guilty, then? And what do you mean by the ugly truth?" 

She sighed. "In a matter of weeks, my mother's murder case will be reopened. And I am expecting that there will be developments in the case that we haven’t known before, and I know they will not be pretty. I don’t want you to see the ugly parts of my life.”

I sat there, stunned. I felt that Hillary had really opened up to me this time, and I believe that she was telling the truth. It all made sense now. She was afraid that I would get caught in her ugly affairs. But she didn’t ask for it. Nobody would.

“What do you want me to do, then?”

Hillary closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I need you to represent me in my mother’s case. Currently, I have lawyers in my employ but none of them are as good as you. I need you in my side, Bill. Especially if Rudy Giuliani will be prosecuting.”

“You don’t worry about your mother’s case too much if you think you have criminal exposure,” I said. “The worst thing that could happen to you is that you will testify,” I said as a lawyer strictly advising his prospective client. “No lawyer can shield you from the ugly truth, but you’ll be fine.”

Despite my assurances, Hillary clearly thought she was not going to be fine.

“And besides, I am shutting down my firm. Or rather, I am giving my firm to Al,” I said.

Hillary almost jumped in her seat when I said that. “Why?” she asked indignantly.

I shrugged. “I don’t think being a litigator is for me.”

“But you’ve done amazing work! You saved countless lives!” she said.

“I did. But I no longer have any motivation for it.” I was speaking in general terms, but in truth, I was speaking to her. I wanted her to know that she was the reason I gave up lawyering.

“Why?” Hillary seemed angry. “Why have you abandoned such a noble profession? Because campaign consulting can make it rain but defending helpless people can’t?”

“You know that I am not about the money. I do my fair share of free legal work.” To be honest, I was half-insulted when she thought I was changing my career because of money.

“Then what is it?” she barked a little more forcefully. “Why are you abandoning all of your good work?”

“Because you lost faith in me,” I said.

Hillary simply sat in there, frozen. She looked away from me and towards the blinds, tears slowly pooling in her eyes.

“I never did,” she confessed. “I think you were amazing back then, I still do now. You became the person I always wanted to be. When you found me, I didn’t think you were real. I was jealous of you, jealous that you didn’t have your mother murdered in front of you. I was jealous that you had a normal childhood and got to have friends and went on dates in high school and…”

The more she rambled, the more my heart broke for her. I suddenly remembered the time when we were under the table during the earthquake. She clung onto me like I was the last person on earth. Maybe in her world, I was indeed the last person on earth, because no one she asked for help had responded. She was all alone and desperate, and I was there.

I stood up, and she followed suit, anxious at what my decision would be. I paced back and forth inside the room, and her eyes followed me. If I was going to represent her, then I would have to abandon my prospective job. I figured that was the easy part. The more challenging part was to get more information about her mother’s case.

“If I represent you,” I said, “I need to know one thing.”

Hillary held her breath.

“Will you tell me everything that I need to know so I can properly defend you?” I had to ask that question. I had to be sure that she would trust me with everything.

She swallowed before saying, “Yes.”

Her affirmation was good enough for me. “I see. Well then, I will be preparing the paperwork for your change of counsel.”

Relief flooded her face, her hand resting on her chest. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” I said. “It took you long enough, like my other client, but at least you made it.” I tried not to show it, but I felt like I was going to explode in joy. Finally, after weeks of trips to the crime scene, investigations and interrogations, Hillary finally accepted my offer to defend her. I didn’t expect she would wait out until I was going to quit law, but she barely made it.

Hillary too looked like she was going to burst, but she was more prim and proper than me. She was fidgeting all around, which meant she was really trying hard not to jump. Just in time, the jail guards outside knocked and told them our thirty minutes were over. That meant that our meeting was up.

I think I bid her goodbye, but I wasn’t quite sure if I did because seconds later, I felt her pull my hand and yanked me towards her. Just as when I turned around, I felt the softest pair of lips crash into mine. It took me a while to realize what was happening, but when I did, I immediately returned the favor. Those sweet, sweet lips tasted divine, and I couldn’t get enough of them. I sucked her, and I swear I heard the faintest moan escape from her lips. When the moan came out, I felt her hands squeeze my ass. My hands immediately went below her shirt and cupped her soft, bouncy breasts. God. I didn’t think this was really happening. I was kissing and touching Hillary, and she was doing the same to me. I thought I was stuck in a dream or a hallucination, but the jolt of pleasure in my groin told me that this was real.

We were interrupted by a second knock. We quickly parted and fixed ourselves. Hillary’s lips were stained with smudges of lipstick, and I was sure I had lipstick stain in my mouth too. I quickly wiped my lips with the back of my hand and fixed my shirt and tie. Hillary did the same and brushed her hair with her fingers.

We locked eyes, and we knew it was goodbye. She gave me a quick nod before she opened the door and left with her guards. I just stood there, watching and watching until she was gone. All the while, I thought I was floating in midair, with the elation that I felt enough to lift me up.

I felt like a teenager who just had his first kiss.  


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WAAAAAAH I'M SO SORRYYYYYYYYY

The federal courthouse in Brooklyn was packed with reporters and onlookers. Today was no ordinary day. Today was going to be the retrial of Dorothy Rodham's murder. Instead of Roger Stone, the defendant this time was Michael Dukakis, the same man Hillary pleaded to have killed in the Bronx River a few years ago. The FBI, using circumstantial evidence and Hillary's guilty plea, established Dukakis's means and motives for killing Dorothy Rodham. Additional investigation by the feds revealed that Dukakis was jealous of Dorothy Rodham's success in the legal business. Their animosity had run deep, ever since their law school days at Harvard. Also, the feds discovered that Dukakis was in the federal courthouse the same time Hillary, her mother and Roger Stone were trapped in the elevator.

Normally, the prosecutors wouldn't have bothered reopening the case given that the accused was already dead. But since the murders of Dorothy Rodham and Michael Dukakis had attracted so much media attention, the prosecutors deemed it prudent to reopen the case for the sake of public interest.

As agreed upon in the pre-trial proceedings, the prosecutors would present their case first. The prosecutor in charge of the case, Rudy Giuliani, had subpoenaed Hillary to testify and she was the first one in the stand. I fought tooth and nail to keep Hillary from testifying, because it would only open her wounds. We kept losing every appeal. I was going to use the Fifth Amendment as my last resort, but Hillary herself overruled me. She said that she was prepared to testify, no matter what the consequences were. I was obviously against this, but as her lawyer, I had to respect her wishes. In the end, we complied, and I was on my way to the courthouse, while Hillary was transferred back to Brooklyn for the proceedings.

I arrived at the courthouse and barely survived the onslaught of reporters. I responded "no comment" to every one of their questions. Minutes later, Hillary arrived as well, dressed in a simple crisp black pantsuit and escorted by her guards. I didn't realize I was staring at her too long until I heard a clerk tap me from behind and told me that I was blocking the doorway. I stepped aside and met my client at the lobby.

"Good morning," I said with little pep in my voice. "Ready?"

"I know I've had countless experience litigating, but nothing comes close to being in the stand," she said nervously.

I rubbed her shoulder with my left hand, and I felt her flinch a little so I quickly pulled my hand away.

"It's fine," I tried to ignore what had just happened which we both knew really happened. "You'll do great. If you feel like you're in a rough spot, plead the fifth."

"I don't think I can even if my life depends on it," Hillary replied nervously. "I am not the person to make excuses. The truth is much more important than my well-being."

"But it's your right and the Constitution guarantees it," I stood there, shocked at her self-denigration. "You know better than that."

"I know. But I still think it's an excuse to let people off the hook," she affirmed.

I could not believe how little Hillary thought of human rights in general. The grade school Hillary I knew would have disapproved of adult Hillary's behavior.

We didn't have time to chatter more as we were called inside Courtroom # 7. The room was already almost full, mostly filled with court reporters. I saw Rudy Giuliani in the prosecution bench, looking as sour and bitter as ever. He looked like he was ready to finish the trial in one day. I wonder what he would ask Hillary. I hoped the questions he would ask were covered in our trial prep.

The judge, Judge Daniel Patrick Moynihan, entered the courtroom and everyone stood up. When all of us were allowed to sit down, the trial commenced.

Dukakis's lawyer, Barbara Boxer, was a partner in Dukakis's law firm. She took the liberty of clearing her former partner's name. She had been doing rounds of media blitz these past few days and asserting that the court would find her deceased client innocent. We'll see.

Without further ado, Hillary was called to the stand by Rudy Giuliani. Sometimes I wonder what kind of a father Giuliani was. He seemed strict and heartless. He subpoenaed his own adopted daughter in this trial knowing fully well that it would break her. I had this conspiracy theory that Giuliani was channeling his anger on Dorothy Rodham onto her daughter when everybody bought his heartfelt excuse to adopt her like his own daughter. Of course, I had no proof of that, but the current circumstances didn't do anything to disprove my theory.

"Your name and occupation, please," said Giuliani.

"Hillary Rodham," stated Hillary. "Formerly a prosecutor from the Southern District of New York. Now a convict serving her sentence in the federal penitentiary in Brooklyn. I am also the daughter of the victim in this case."

"Thank you, Witness. How long have you known the defendant, Michael Dukakis?"

"I have forgotten what he looked like, but I do know him. When I was still young, my mother once pointed to me who he was, but so many things had happened that day that I forgot his face. But I remembered Mom telling me that she and Dukakis were once classmates in Harvard and didn't like him very much."

"What did you make of it?"

"I thought that Dukakis was just an unpleasant guy to begin with. I didn't realize until years later that my Mom hated him with gusto."

So far, so good. Nothing that we didn't expect.

"But you are a seasoned prosecutor and he is a famed defense attorney. Surely you must have remembered his face?"

I feared that Giuliani might go there. And he did. My heart was pounding, and deep within the poker face, I was sure Hillary's was too. I could see through every bit of her.

"I don't," she said with a facade of calmness that would surely convince the judge and the jury. "I really don't."

 

Giuliani gave her a dirty scowl, but he dropped that line of questioning. "So, December 26, 1983. You were with your Mother in this very courthouse, correct?"

"Yes, I was," she said.

"And you were here to watch your mother defending in a trial, correct?" asked Giuliani.

"Yes. That is correct."

"I am going to test your memory, Ms. Rodham," said Giuliani. "What do you remember that day?"

Hillary closed her eyes. I could feel her pain as she tried to recall the most traumatic day in her life. I wish I could sit beside her and hold her, buy this was a court of law. She would have to testify on her own.

"My mother brought me to the courtroom because my nanny was on vacation and she couldn't leave me at home. I was happy to go with her and I brought along the teddy bear my Mom gave me for Christmas. I didn't mind being at the courtroom with my Mom. I had always loved seeing her in action."

For a moment right there, I thought that was the most enthusiastic I've seen Hillary. Her eyes literally lit up, and she would have bounced if she was standing up. That moment fully underscored how much she loved her Mother, how dearly she meant to her. I had always known that ever since our school days, but I thought that had changed after she was suddenly left orphaned and shoved all the people out of her life. I didn't realize that her love for her mother still ran deep, and the thought of it brought a tear to my eye.

Giuliani seemed satisfied with Hillary's answer, and I breathed a little.

"So, Ms. Rodham," said Giuliani, towering over Hillary as he interrogated her. His back completely shielded Hillary from my view. "You were here on December 26, 1983. Did you remember seeing Mr. Dukakis?"

"I do not recall. But if I did, I would not have paid much attention to him," Hillary responded.

"It so happens that Mr. Dukakis was on this building," said Giuliani. He then turned to the judge. "Your Honor, I present the logbook of the courtroom from 1983." One of Giuliani's associates stepped forward and handed the judge a logbook. "On December 26th, Mr. Dukakis was in fact in the building, as evidenced by his entry on this logbook.” The judge carefully examined the logbook before the court clerk handed it to the jury.

“I see,” said Judge Moynihan. “The court accepts this evidence.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” replied Giuliani. “Now, Ms. Rodham, I want you to retell the court what had happened leading up to the moment you passed out inside the elevator of this very courthouse.”

Hillary turned as white as sheet.  Her calm demeanor suddenly crumbled. She was barely holding it together. I could tell even from afar that she had difficulty breathing, but nobody seemed to bat an eye. I was expecting the defense to object but I realized that they wouldn’t object to a direct examination by the prosecutor, especially if there was nothing in the testimony that could potentially hurt their case, regardless of the well-being of the witness.

“I-I-I was in t-t-t-his courthouse. My mother just finished a trial and we were supposed to go home. We hopped inside the elevator and then the ground suddenly shook. I thought we were going to fall." Hillary had began to break like no one apart from me had ever seen before. She was shaken. She was falling apart. She was all alone.

“OBJECTION!”

I didn't know what pushed me to stand up from the audience and shout that word. Giuliani, the judge, the jury members and everyone in the room turned their heads in my direction. Hillary was looking at me too, but her eyes were telling a different story now. She seemed grateful for the interruption.

I knew Hillary was my client, but apparently, I had forgotten that she wasn't on trial. She was just testifying. She wasn't indicted for this. If anything, she was the surviving victim of this case. She wasn't going to be in more trouble that she already was.

But the sight of Hillary being forced to relive her most traumatic memory made my blood boil. What's worse was that nobody came to her defense when she clearly couldn't go through with it. Not even the judge or anyone in the jury. I knew this proceedings can produce drama that TV producers only wished the could only formulate in their minds, but the lack of empathy from literally anyone in the room disgusted me, especially Giuliani for merely even suggesting it.

The judge looked at me with a stern and confused look and said, "Mr. Clinton, may I request that you sit down and not interrupt the proceedings otherwise I will be compelled to throw you out of the courtroom, even if you are the witness's counsel."

Giuliani was glaring at me like I was filth. That wasn't the first time he looked at me like that. He saw defense attorneys as beneath him. He never gave us the respect of being equals, so the way he was looking at me was a real stretch for him. I somehow made myself look more pathetic than I already was.

I apologized to the judge and to the court, and Giuliani proceeded with the direct examination. He further questioned her about the day of the murder, most of which we already knew. Several times, I had to literally bite my tongue and clench mu knuckles just to contain my anger at Giuliani. This wasn't a direct examination. This was psychological torture. And what's worse was that everyone - or at least the judge and the jury - were complicit in this fucking farce. At the end of Hillary's testimony, we learned nothing new. Except for the fact that Hillary might have seen Dukakis and Giuliani near the elevator when she and her mother entered.

When the trial was dismissed, the jail guards immediately took hold of Hillary and escorted her out of the courtroom. I tagged along until she was inside the SUV that carried her from prison. I didn't want to leave her alone yet. I am not sure I could leave her by herself in such a state so I requested her guards to accompany her back to the federal facility and they let me. When I opened the car door and slipped inside, Hillary was surprised to see me.

"Hi I'm coming with you," I said.

I expected that she would object, but she didn't. "Do the guards already know?"

"Yes. When are you going to see your therapist?" I asked.

"As soon as I can get an appointment," she said.

"Better get one and quick. How do you feel?"

"Tired. And shaken." She didn't need to let me know what she was feeling because she knew that I already knew the answer to my question. I just wanted to comfort her.

"Do you want to sleep?" I asked.

"Badly. But I the car isn't good for sleeping."

"You can lean on me," I blurted out. I wasn't thinking if this was going to be awkward or not, but comforting her was my priority.

She must have been too tired to argue or to even think that she immediately closed her eyes and learned on my shoulder to sleep. I thought I was the one offering some comfort, but having her lean on me felt oddly satisfying. It felt good to be needed. I felt very purposeful. It was great to have someone rely on you and not let them down.

As Hillary dozed off on my shoulder, I fought the urge to kiss her on her crown. She was at her most vulnerable, and I didn't want to take advantage of her at this state.

Not even when she laced her fingers into mine right before she slept.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff :)

I placed my grocery bag on top of the table and one by one, I took everything out. Bottles of chocolate milk, lasagna and two cups of coffee. We were in the visitors' area for our regular client meeting, but instead of the usual meeting rooms, I decided that we have it here just to lighten the mood.

I was sort of nervous about this new arrangement. I didn't know why exactly. But I had been thinking about this for quite some time now, seeing that Hillary was all fidgety every time we meet. As a lawyer, of course I wanted my client to become comfortable with me, so I took these step to do so.

I could tell that Hillary's eyes were glued to the chocolate milk and coffee. Chocolate milk was her favorite, and we lawyers practically have coffee in our blood since our law school days. I was sure she wasn't getting quality coffee inside the prison.

"I brought your favorite, chocolate milk. And Bush said you liked that cappuccino from the shop across the SDNY office. And I baked you lasagna."

"Wow, this is too much," she said appreciatively, but as the same time, overwhelmed. "You don't have to..."

"Well, I wanted to. I noticed that you seem uncomfortable when we were in the meeting room so I decided a change of setting," I replied. "This isn't as quiet but I think we'll be okay."

Oh God. Hillary was looking at me. She wasn't blinking at all! Did I do anything wrong? Did she not like it? Was I overstepping her boundaries?

"The lasagna smells delicious," she said. "Would you mind if I dig in?"

I came dowm from my temporary heart attack. "Sure. Let's eat!"  
She took one box of lasagna and handed me one before taking hers.

"This is great," she said delightedly and I was thanking my lucky stars that she liked it. Jesus. I was acting like a fucking teenager. I am in my thirties, for crying out loud! I've grown out of this years ago!

"So," I said, trying to change the conversation, "I think I won't allow you to answer any more of Giuliani's questions. The last trial was a total clusterfuck."

Hillary played with her lasagna absentmindedly. "I always thought testifying is a civic duty, as is sitting on a jury. But the last trial made me rethink that stance.

"Then refuse," I said firmly. "Plead the fifth."

She sighed, throwing her fork away. "I don't want to be in that courtroom anymore."

"Then don't," I replied. "You don't have to. You have the right not to answer if it will cause you harm."

"I want this to go away. I am already in jail. What else do they need me for?"

I sensed that there was something more to her complaint than meets the eye. "What do you mean by that?"

Hillary whispered a curse under her breath. I bet she was angry as herself for that careless slip on the tongue.

"I said I'd been truthful to you when you asked me to accept your defense," she said. "I think it's time for me to fulfill my end of the bargain."

Her words rang loudly in my ears. "You mean...?"

"I didn't kill anyone," Hillary said, but her voice lacked the conviction that the usually had. "But like you, I want to know the truth. And for twenty-two years, I was afraid to face the truth. Now, I am ready."

"So what are you saying?"

"After I was arrested, I hired a couple of private investigators to search for new information on my mother's murder and Dukakis's as well."

"And?"

"I'll let them contact you. I am going to ask them to transfer all pending investigations to you."

I swallowed hard. I see what she did there. She was going to give all investigative rights to me. I've been angling to secure that weeks ago and now that I have it, it felt so daunting.

My brain must have short-circuited, because I suddenly stood up, sat beside her and wrapped my arms around her. God even in prison, she smelled so good. She didn't fight me. She even rested her head on my chest and pressed her palms against me. It felt so good to be with her. And now that she was wide awake, I kissed her hair like I've wanted to do for so long.

"Thank you for trusting me," I said, still in a daze.

"There is no one else I could trust," she said. "Only you have proven yourself to be trustworthy."

Hearing her say that was the greatest feeling in the world. I feel like I could float right then and there. My chest was swelling so much I feel like I could burst any moment.

"I am honored," I whispered against her hair. "I am glad that after all this time, you still believe in me."

"I always had....Billy."

She looked up at me with those sparkling blue eyes, full of love and trust.

"You called me like you used to when we were kids," I said.

"I feel like a kid again with you, Billy," she replied.

She snuggled closer to me, and my heart pumped twice as fast. From the corner of my eye, I caught Bush winking at me and mouthing "you playboy." I rolled my eyes. There isn't a shred of truth in that, of course. But that momentary distraction was nothing compared to the fact that Hilly finally told me what she really felt.

And I fucking liked it

* * *

_A soft, warm pair of lips were assaulting my neck, and my entire body shivered. My knees started to become putty and liquid hot pleasure pooled in my center. I looked down and Bill's dark auburn hair tickled the tip of my nose. Oh God. His lips were glorious. He was kissing my neck and licking and sucking every inch of my tender skin. I was slowly succumbing to his power. His caresses were going to be death of me._

_He pressed himself closer to me, and I felt his hardness bump against my belly. I have never imagined he would feel like a rock under me. My mouth suddenly watered. I needed to feel him, to touch him, so I unzipped his pants and dipped my hand into his pants. Oh God. It seemed like I was holding a baseball bat. He was so big so hard. For a moment there, I wondered if he would fit inside me. The thought of me getting ripped apart by Bill's cock sounded ludicrous, but there was a part of me that was apprehensive._

_But I let go of my worries. I let myself enjoyed his touch. When I came to, Bill's hand was dangerously up my thigh, and his close proximity to my center made me more wet with anticipation. He was giving to me little by little. He crept up inch by inch until his hand was finally inside my skirt and I sighed in relief when he inserted his hand on my panties and cupped my soaking entrance. My hips moved on their own accord, angling for Bill's finger to thrust inside. I needed him to move. I needed him to make love to me with his fingers._

_I suddenly, I heard the soft sound of an elevator ding. It was the first time I realized where I was. I looked past Bill and saw the doors closing. My heart raced, and not because the man  I liked was getting inside my panties. No matter how many times I have ridden an elevator, there was always this momentary fear that would stir inside me whenever the doors would close, and today was no exception._

_But Bill's touches were enough to distract me. I let myself enjoy him. I felt my center throb, aching to swallow his manhood._

_"Please, Bill," I said desperately. "I want..."_

_Before I could finish. I felt him slip inside me so easily. I didn't even know how he got rid of my panties. He just did, but I wasn't complaining. He felt so good. The expected pain didn't come, only pleasure. It was as if we were the perfect fit for each other._

_Suddenly, the lights went off, and the air suddenly felt cold. Everything went dark and I couldn't see anything. Gone was the feeling of being filled. Pleasure turned into fear._

_"Bill?'" I called him in the darkness, but there was no response._

_I was scared. I was fucking scared. Where was Bill? And wasn't he just inside me a few seconds ago? Where did he go? Is this some kind of a joke? If indeed it was, it was not at all funny._

_I tried to walk around, and a few feet from where I was, I felt my foot step at something soft yet sturdy. Damn it. I wish I knew what I stepped on. If only the lights were on...._

_"Bill?" I called for him desperately. "Bill? I'm scared...please don't leave me here alone..."_

_As if on cue, the lights went up again, and I looked down, to my horror, I saw Bill swimming in his pool of blood. His mouth was agape and a single bullet was shot through his heart._

_"Bill!"_

_No, no, no, no, no! This couldn't be happening! How did he get shot?! Oh God. I frantically pressed the emergency button in the elevator, but it wasn't working at all. I returned to him, and clutched him in my arms, willing him to open his eyes._

_"Billy, please....wake-up...please wake-up!" I cried, kissing his face everywhere._

_For some reason, something cold and metallic touched my knee. I turned around and I saw a gun that I hadn't seen before. It had bloody hand marks which suggest that someone held it just recently. That was odd. It wasn’t here before._

_My eyes darted to my right hand, which was all covered in blood. My own blood chilled. Where did I get all of this blood when I haven't touched the blood on the floor? And why is it only my right hand? My left was pristine and clean. Looking at the gun, a twisted idea came to my mind, and it tore me into pieces._

_I killed Bill._

_I killed the only man who was good to me._

_"Yes you did"_

_A thundering voice, the same one who was screaming to me in my dreams, startled the daylights out of me._

_"You killed Bill. Murder..."_

_"I am not! I am not!" I tearfully plead the voice, but he kept repeating the same thing. "I am innocent!"_

_"Murderer...murderer..."_

_"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?! I AM ALREADY PAYING FOR MY CRIME? WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT?!" I screamed as loud as my lungs could._

_"Murdererrrrrrrrrrrr!"_

_A single gunshot echoed loudly inside the elevator, and just when I thought I was dead, my eyes fluttered open. I looked around and found myself inside my cell. My forehead was filled with cold sweat and I was panting. My pounding heart began to relax as the realization that I was safe inside my cell sank in._

_So I was still inside my cell and everything I saw was just a dream. Or rather, a nightmare. I tried to recall every detail of it because I would need to tell my therapist about it on the next session. I was sure that she will tell me that this was all about my desire and longing for the truth._

_But what if the truth had been inside me all along and it was struggling to get out?_

_Giuliani's words suddenly came to my mind. Earlier today, he said these cryptic words to me when he walked past by me in the prison halls:_

_"Rodham, the truth will always come out. No matter how hard you try to hide it."_

_No._

_No. No. No. No. No._

_I don't want them to know! Especially Bill! I know I said I'd be truthful but I couldn't! I couldn't tell him everything! I'd rather rot in jail than to know everything! I knew he was suffering because of my indiscretion, but there are things that he should never know._

_It felt good when he held me earlier. I felt safe and secure, like nothing could ever harm me, and I didn't want to change that._

_I knew it was a mistake to let him in, no matter how happy I was with him._


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really should get this moving along and send Hillary back to court =))))

I knew I was right. There was something fishy going on with the boat shop owner. The more I read the report from Hillary's private investigators, the more I was goddamned sure that the true killer set up Hillary to take the fall for the crime. Whether or not Hillary knew of the scheme, that remained to be seen.

I closed the binder, controlling myself from pounding my fist in front of Hillary.

"I can get you off the hook in the Dukakis case," I said. "You're completely innocent."

"I am, but there's still the question of whether the judge will believe me. The moment he knew who the boat shop owner was, I am toast. I decided to plead guilty to avoid a heavier sentence."

"But you are innocent, Hillary," I insisted. "You know that is an egregious error of the law.

"Erroneous or not, the law is still the law," I said. "It is futile to fight."

I shook my head violently. "No, it's not. That's why we defense attorneys exist. To balance the view of the law. It is the prosecutors' job to doubt people, and it our job to believe in people. The law works because both sides give everything they got, and in the end, only one thing remains: the truth."

Hillary was staring at me, wide-eyed.

"What?" I suddenly felt a little conscious. Her glares could either melt or kill me. In this case, it was doing the latter.

"Nothing," she said. "You sound a lot like my Mom. And you haven't met her."

I sat there, frozen. I really didn't know what to do or say. Given that she compared me to her Mother, that should be a hell of a compliment, right? But I was unsure. Hillary herself was unsure of what that observation meant, judging by her blank stare.

I decided to steer the direction of the conversation. "Since your Mother is a legend among us defense attorneys, I'll take that as a compliment."

Hillary nodded and bowed her head, looking slightly embarrassed. I didn't mean to make her feel that way! I just...I just didn't know what to say. I just pretended that I was so sure of myself when in fact, I always felt inferior when in front of her.

I shrugged off my insecurities and went on. "My position on this remains unchanged: if you decided to fight the charges on the Dukakis murder. You will win. I can assure you that."

Hillary scoffed. "You are being naive. You and I both know the judge will question me as to why I took that plea if I knew I am not guilty. I didn't exactly help myself when I did that."

She was right to remain concerned about her predicament, and while she had a great point, I chose to have faith in her and in the justice system.

"We will tell the judge that you received inadequate advice from your previous counsel," I said.

Hillary shook her head. "That won't sit well with the judge."

"You're still thinking like a prosecutor, Hillary," I said. "You have only seen how the system works from one side. It's completely different on the opposite bench."

I knew Hillary wasn't completely willing to admit that I was right, and so she decided to switch the topic.

"Let's talk about something else. About my Mom's case..."

I was too happy to change the conversation too. "Giuliani is fighting tooth and nail to have you testify again even though our grounds for refusal is enough. He says he has proof that the Fifth Amendment doesn't apply to you."

Hillary didn't react at all. I assumed she was expecting Giuliani to do that. I, however, was stunned by his lack of concern for his adopted daughter. 

Apparently, Hillary noticed that I had a million thoughts running in my head.

"Do you really think Giuliani will give me a pass just because he raised me?" Hillary read right through me.

There was no point denying the obvious. "Well, yeah..."

Hillary laughed bitterly. "You are, indeed, naive. You're smart but still naive. If he has to sacrifice me, or his real children, for the sake of his career, he will do so. There's a reason why he never lost a case in his forty years of prosecutorial career."

"Jesus..."

"He is so focused in his job that he only took a leave only once."

"Only once?"

"Yes. Right after my mother's murder. He must have been shaken that the last person he clashed in court ended up dead.

"What?!" That was news to me. I never heard of such thing before.

"Oh yes." While the story sure unearthed bad memories, Hillary was too eager to talk about it. "He took a six-month vacation. No one knows where he had gone. He just showed up at work one day as if nothing had happened. Started barking orders everywhere.”

“I never knew that,” I said.

“Well, now you do,” she replied.

I sat there, thinking deeply. Giuliani’s vacation was too convenient to have nothing to do with Dorothy Rodham’s murder. My gut told me that it had something to with it.

"You're thinking of something again," Hillary remarked

I squinted my eyes as I thought deeply. "Was he ever questioned during the course of the investigation of your Mother's murder?"

Hillary was surprised by my question. "How could he be? He was nowhere near the crime scene."

"But he was inside the federal courthouse when the crime happened, yes?"

"He was."

My brain was processing a million thoughts right now, and I didn't have the patience nor the constitution to tell Hillary what was going on, so I stood up, kissed her on the lips and abruptly left our scheduled client meeting.

* * *

_I licked my lips after he kissed me as if I just tasted candy. I didn't know exactly why he left, why he suddenly made a mad dash away from me. I wasn't bothered that he immediately left. I was just curious as to why he left so unceremoniously._

_I could hear the gears clicking inside Bill's head. I knew he was trying to link Giuliani over my mother's murder, but I could not have disagreed with him more. There was no way Giuliani could have done it. I knew he didn't like my mother but I could see no motive for him to kill her. Also, he put me under his wing after she died. Any judge or jury could see that his motivation to kill my mother was nonexistent._

_Nevertheless, I relished that kiss. I wanted more of it. I wanted a million of it. God! I wanted to kiss him_ every day _. I wanted to kiss him every time I see him. I wanted to kiss him when he wakes up and before he goes to sleep. If I could make him as happy as he made me, then I know I am doing something right in my life for once._

_I snapped back to my cruel reality when the guard asked me where the hell Bill went to. I told him that our meeting was probably adjourned and he should escort me back to my cell. The confused guard nodded and did as he was told._

* * *

My heart was racing when I opened the folder containing the Dorothy Rodham case file. I hoped that I could solve this mystery without this, but I was naive to have thought of that in the first place. No. The Dukakis murder revolved around the Rodham murder. The Roger Stone connection was the proof of that, although nobody apart from me, Hillary and the real mastermind knew about it yet. Right after I ran away, I called Bush to give me access to the police archives. When I told him my reasons, he was skeptic. Members of the public had no access to such information, and unless it was approved by a high ranking official of the police force, nobody outside the police should be able to see that. However, I was so passionate and persuasive that I was able to convince him to let me in, albeit illegally. I had ten minutes to myself, no more, no less.

There it was, in my hands, the heart of this mystery. The most vital information, the most kept secrets of the Rodham murder case. Half of me was excited about what I would see, and half of me was afraid. Either way, I came this far. There was no turning back now.

I opened the folder, and the first thing that caught my attention was a bullet inside a plastic bag. The label said that this was the bullet that was recovered from Dorothy Rodham's heart. I almost dropped the bag in shock. This small thing took a person's life, and holding it felt so exhilarating, but not in a good way.

I gently placed the bullet on the side and read the executive summary. Everything I have read so far was something I already knew until I reached the fifth page, where it said that the murder weapon recovered from the crime scene fired two shots. Immediately, the gears of my brain began to turn. If there were two shots fired, where was the second bullet?

I read the whole summary for any references of the second bullet. Nothing. That struck me as odd. Every smart prosecutor would notice this glaring clue. There was no way the case could be solved if they couldn't find the second bullet.

The discrepancy of the bullets reminded me of the Dukakis case. The authorities knew of one gunshot that killed Dukakis, but only I have knowledge of the second gunshot, thanks to Sarah Sanders and her camera.

Because I did not have much time, I quickly read the rest of the summary. Thank God I had photographic memory. Even if I don't, I am sure that I won't forget every detail of this breathtaking report.

I neatly re-filed the report and dashed out of the archives. With a new lead on my hands, I have newfound confidence in both the Rodham and Dukakis cases. My case was beginning to unfold, and at the right time, I could pull Hillary out of prison.

And maybe one day, we could save the world. Together. 

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Promise, the updates will be more frequent!

"Impossible!" Hillary stared at me, mouth agape, when I revealed to her what I had found out when I searched for her Mom's murder files at the FBI archives. She flipped the pages gingerly, as if each page was covered in filth.

"There must be something wrong with that report," she said when she finally regained her composure. "It must have been tampered with."

"Unlikely, because it is the official police report. You know better than anyone that it'll take a hell of an effort to tamper an official record," I said. "What makes you say that this one's tampered with?"

"Because the record I had with me says that there is only one bullet," she said.

That piqued my interest. "Where did you get that record?"

"Giuliani gave it to me, of course," she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "He thought I ought to know the truth about my Mother's death. He isn't the most loving father in the world, but I got to hand it to him: he gave me the utmost respect of letting me know the truth."

My brows furrowed. So it was Giuliani who gave Hillary a different record of her Mother's death, huh? But why would he give her that? It's unlikely that he was mistaken; a prosecutor of his caliber could not overlook such a glaring difference. The only thing that could explain the bizarre situation is that Giuliani gave Hillary an altered copy on purpose.

But why? 

"Because of this recent discovery, I will have to put Giuliani in my watchlist," I said. "I am not accusing him of anything, but I need to know what he thinks. Maybe he did give you a faulty report, no matter how unlikely it is."

“Do you really think Giuliani has anything to do with it?”

“Either he has a hand in this, or he is just grossly incompetent,” I said. “You and I both know that the former is far more likely.”

She looked away and let out a sigh. “I don’t know what to think anymore. The truth and lies? I can’t distinguish them anymore.”

My heart broke seeing her so tormented and confused, so I held her hand and brushed the back of her hand with my thumb. I sensed her relax a bit, but she still felt tense.

“I’m here to help you search for the truth, Hilly,” I said imploringly. “I’ve been trying to.”

“I know, and I know how valuable your input is in the investigation,” she replied, and I could feel the sincerity in her voice, which was a relief to me. “But what if I am scared to find out the truth?”

“Why would you be scared? Don’t you want to know who really killed your Mother?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “Maybe it’s better that the truth remains hidden. Maybe the truth is so ugly that it will just bring torment to people.”

There was a fear in her voice that was distinct and impossible to miss. I immediately caught that, but I decided to not press further as to what it was. Was there something in the events that she had never told anyone, even the investigators? Or was she aware of anyone concealing any information that would lead to her Mother’s murderer?

Those two questions burned brightly in my mind, but I must be careful not to let her know that I was pursuing those. With great effort, I was able to secure Hillary’s permission to search for her copy of the police report that she had in her apartment. She also told me to ask Bush to give me a spare key so I could investigate her apartment at my leisure.

I left Hillary in the meeting room shaken, despite her best efforts to try to hide it from me. I promised her that I would return the next day with a fresh development, even though I wasn’t sure that I would have something new to show her, but my assurance didn’t do much to lift her spirits.

Right away, I drove myself to her apartment. I was supposed to submit to finish the sentencing memo for our client who had pled guilty to obstruction, but I delegated that to Al. Hillary’s case was for important for me.

Bush was waiting there for me when I arrived. He got a cheeky look on his face that told me that his hyperactive imagination was working overtime again.

“So, the keys, huh?” Bush tried to get a rise out of me, and I wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction, just because I didn’t want to be the end of his incessant teasing. I tried my best to remain silent.

“What are we looking for, pal? New leads?” he asked. His voice became suddenly businesslike when he seemed to have decided that I wasn’t going to fall for his antics.

“Sort of, yeah,” I replied. “I need to find the copy of the police report Giuliani gave her. It’s different from the one in the public record.”

“Holy shit!” Bush gasped in surprise.

“Exactly, so we need to find the copy Hillary has and find some clues there. We first need to make sure where Giuliani got this.”

“Alright, pal."

We proceeded to search for the file in Hillary’s room. I was kicking myself for forgetting to ask Hillary where she put the file. My mind wasn’t at its best whenever she was around. I mean, it was hard to concentrate because her mere presence was sucking all of my attention. Now, when I was left to my own devices, logic and sensibility slowly returned. And without Hillary’s instructions, we were left to find the report for ourselves.

Looking for something in Hillary’s bedroom proved to be easier than we thought it would. Hillary was very organized, and she usually stored similar things together. And Bush found that out the hard way when he opened her the topmost drawer of her cabinet, and he found her neatly folded underwear.

“T-t-t-here was a thong in there too,” Bush stammered. I, on the other hand, was secretly bursting with theories as to why she had a thong. But regardless of what was on my mind, I tried to keep my crotch away from Bush’s view as I perused her books and other documents in her study table. I might never hear the end from Bush if he had seen the small dent in my pants.

After thirty minutes of silent reading, I think I have found what we were looking for. Inside a yellow manila envelope sat a thirty-page report with a little less detail that I had found in the archives, but it was sufficient to give the reader a complete view of the murder. However, the fundamental difference lied in the number of bullets found in the crime scene. As Hillary said, the report in her possession only said one.

"Whoa, this is shit," Bush gasped in amazement as he perused the report himself.

"I know. This is so fucked-up."

"I don't want to believe it, but I think Giuliani has something to do with it. He just has to."

"That's my hypothesis right now."

"Sounds solid to me, pal," said Bush. "If it helps, I think I know something that be useful."

"What is it?"

"You know that Giuliani is one hell of a workaholic right?"

Of course. Everybody in the district knew that Giuliani's dedication to his work is the stuff of legends. I mean, the guy works on Thanksgiving and Christmas.

"Well," Bush continued, "it is said that right after the Rodham murder, he took a six-month vacation."

"Yes, Hillary told me the same thing." I first thought that there might be something into his sudden disappearance right after the murder. But now after thinking it through, it wasn't enough. Sure, it sounded fishy as hell, but it wasn't as incriminating than what I thought it would be.

"You think there's something to it?"

I shook my head. "I wish there was. I really thought that Giuliani might be up to something that time, but looking at my evidence, I got nothing. But this false report really raises a lot of red flags."

"Do you want to head back and read the official report again? You can read as long as I am around."

I trust my photographic memory to have remembered every detail that I saw, but there must have been something that I missed. There had to. I knew the solution existed somewhere, and I just haven't found it.

I agreed to have Bush accompany me back to the court. When we arrived at the archives, I asked Bush to stay at the door. But it wasn't long that I regretted my decision to make him wait outside.

I found Giuliani inside, on the same spot where I stood when I first read the court records. His face wore that usual smug look, taunting me.

"What brings a motherfucker like you here?" he said in between is gritted teeth.

I didn't respond, but my eyes quickly darted towards the folder that he was holding. It was the Rodham file. At the very best, he was there to research the case to prepare for the retrial.

“It’s wise of your client to accept a guilty plea in the Dukakis case,” he said, his eyes never leaving the report. “The law is merciful to those who repent.”

I kept my silence. I knew he is trying to rile me up. What for? I didn’t know.

“But in order for her to obtain mercy, she must repent all of her sins,” he said.

I must admit, that had me intrigued. I knew I was walking into a trap, but my curiosity overpowered my carefulness.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Don’t play dumb, boy,” Giuliani said impatiently. “Surely, you must have realized, if Stone didn’t shoot Rodham, then that leaves on person, doesn’t it?”

He obviously meant Hillary. But there was no way she could have shot her mother. She had no motive!

“You’re a smart kid, Clinton. I’ve seen you in action. You’re smarter than the fools I’ve had wrestled in court. If you are really as smart as I think you are, you’ll convince her to plead guilty to the Rodham case too.”

“And what if I refused?” I said.

“Well, I’d gladly wallop you in court,” he said with a tone of sadism.

“If my defeat will give you satisfaction, then so be it,” I replied defiantly. “I won’t give up my client. I know she’s innocent. She did not kill Dukakis, and she did not kill her mother.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Sometimes it’s better to accept the inevitable, Clinton. If the evidence doesn’t exist, then you have no case.”

My eyes suddenly travelled to his fingers which was turning the pages of the report. The way Giuliani said that last sentence had me thinking that he had something to do about the evidence in the Rodham case. Especially that he had given Hillary a false report.

“How can I be so sure that the evidence, in fact, did not exist?” I said. “The public record says there are two bullets, but the second bullet is missing.”

“What are you insinuating, boy? Are you telling me that I am concealing evidence?” I could feel the danger in his voice, and I must admit I was a little afraid of what he might do. But Hillary needed me, and that alone gave me the courage to press on.

“It’s not beneath you to conceal evidence in order to win a case,” I said. “There have been rumors…”

“Rumors are not admissible in court!” he shot back. “You have no evidence against me!”

“No, I do not,” I said calmly, “however, your behavior betrayed you.”

Checkmate. Giuliani looked like he was caught red-handed. I was correct in my accusation. 

“And right now,” I pressed, “you’re trying to conceal the evidence, in case there is something that you are trying to hide from me, so that I could not bring it up in court.”

Giuliani’s face was beet red.

“Give it up now, Giuliani,” I dared him. “Hand me the file. My client deserves to see the evidence.”

Giuliani looked defeated as he slowly handed me the folder. But before my fingers could touch the edge of the folder, I felt a quick, sharp pain course through me, before my body went numb and my consciousness was gone before my head hit the floor.

\---

“Pal…pal…are you alright?”

I opened my eyes to the sight of Bush looking so distraught. The view behind him was nothing like the view inside the archives.

“You’re in our lounge, pal,” Bush said, answering the question in my mind. “You were stunned. By Giuliani.”

“That son of a bitch,” I moaned as I tried to get up. “He is one giant piece of shit.”

“What happened inside, pal? I only saw Giuliani walking as fast as he could. He didn’t see me outside.”

I told Bush what had happened inside, and his jaw immediately dropped on the floor.

“I knew Giuliani was rough but fuck, he’s nasty,” he said.

I was angry at myself for letting Giuliani have the upper hand. “I should have prepared for this. He took off with the Rodham file.”

“There goes your chance for any deep digging, pal,” Bush noted sadly. “Knowing him, he'd make sure he won't leave you anything, even the smallest of crumbs."

"You don't have to tell me that," I said bitterly. "I would have to investigate this the way the feds did before."

"But it may be too late by the time you finish. The trial might be over by then."

"I don't care. I want closure on this case, no matter what the outcome will be."

I felt a firm resolve develop inside me. All this time, I was confined to the fact that I needed to get Hillary out of jail, but I was failing to see the big picture. It shouldn't be about producing a certain outcome, although it could be part of my goals. No, the main object is and should always be finding the truth, because truth leads to justice, justice leads to healing, and healing leads to reconciliation.

As I get up from the couch, I felt something digging into my ribs. I reached inside my coat and I felt a small, hard object inside a small plastic bag. I took it out and my eyes widened in utmost surprise. It was a small bullet labelled "DL-6 Exhibit 15A"

It didn't take me to put two and two together. There was only one bullet recovered in the Rodham murder, which meant that the bullet that I was holding was the one found in the heart of Dorothy Rodham.

"Jesus Christ, pal. Where did you get that?!" Bush remarked in astonishment.

"Giuliani must have dropped this in his rush to get out of thw archives" I posited as I looked at the bullet in amazement. "This is the bullet which caused Hillary misery."

"Fascinating, if not morbid," said Bush.

"Yeah. Can you please keep this for me? I bet Giuliani will search me once he finds out that this is gone."

"Sure thing, pal."

"And can I ask another favor?"

"Sure."

I took a deep breath and said, "Please don't tell Hillary about this. I bet she's gonna freak the shit out if she finds out."


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the errors. No beta. :)

I did not foresee what had just happened. For the second time, Hillary was being brought to court, this time for the charge of killing her mother. We did not know that Giuliani had empaneled a grand jury to indict her for this charge. I somehow expected him to do this, but I didn't realize how ahead of the game he was until now. Fuck. Seeing Hillary do the perp walk again shattered my world. I felt like as her lawyer and as her friend (I don't know what to call our relationship aside from being friends), I failed her. I failed to protect her, just as I failed to protect her all these years.

Just as the news of her indictment broke, my cellphone kept ringing off the hook. They were reporters asking me for comment. I told Al to draft a statement and to give no further comments beyond that. I also got a text from my buddy in the New York Bar Association saying that following this indictment, Hillary might be stripped of her law license. Shit. I accompanied Hillary towards the courtroom, shielding her from the bright flashes of cameras and the microphones aching to hear anything from her.

Once we were inside the safety of the courtroom, I released her, but she did not back away from me. She was remained close to me. Her proximity gave me a little comfort. Once when we were inside the courtroom, every pair of eyes followed us. My own eyes fell unto her, and to my astonishment, she was a vision of calm and confidence, yet she looked like she would rather be anywhere else in the world but here.

"You alright?" I asked.

She nodded. "I can't say I am surprised that this happened."

Under the prying eyes of the court, I laced my fingers with hers. "I am sorry that it's gotten into this. But don't worry. I'll do everything to clear your name."

"That won't be necessary," she said to my astonishment.

"What? What do you mean that it won't be necessary? Are you dismissing me as your lawyer?!" I said indignantly, though in hushed tones.

"I should have never let you represent me, but my heart overtook my mind," she said, and I could feel the regret in her voice. "But what is done is done. I am going to plead guilty."

"What?! You can't do that!" I fired back in whispers.

"I have to. I killed my mother," she said.

No. This must be something wrong. Or maybe she was having hallucinations. Hillary? Killing her mother, whom she loved and adored? No. It doesn't make sense. At all.

"I know how hard it is for you to accept my guilt," she explained," but I am sure of it. Every night, it haunts me. Always reminding me of my sin."

"Who haunts you?" I asked.

"My guilt" she replied. "Every night, I dream of the same thing. A gun shot and a scream. At first I thought that it was a remnant of my trauma from the incident that killed my mother. But it was persistent and consistent. Every night, that single gunshot and that horrible scream. It frightened me. No matter what I did, that dream would come as certain as the sunrise. It was only later in my life that I that the dream wasn't a dream at all, but a memory."

"That can't be true," I said desperately. "You're innocent."

"I tried to believe that, Bill, but the more I do, the less makes sense," she replied almost tearily. I wanted to clasp my ears and scream my lungs out so that I couldn't hear what she had to say, but I must listen; I am the only one who does.

"There is something else that you should know," she added.

I looked at her. Her beautiful eyes pierced me yet again, but I don't know what to believe anymore.

"I didn't kill Dukakis," she said. "I was still grappling with my guilt when I decided to plead guilty. But the fact is, I didn't kill him. I should have realized that I could not escape justice. I should have confessed to this crime a long time ago."

At this point, I want to run away from the court and scream and sob and throw everything that I could get my hands on at her, but I was not afforded that luxury. My chest was bursting with a million emotions, yet at the same time, I felt numb, numb from the mixture of my confusion and the loss of my grasp of reality.

My brooding was interrupted when the judge entered the courtroom. She is a judge I've argued in front of a couple if time. She was as emotionless as ever. She is an epitome of fairness and reason. At least, I am confident that this trial will be fair.

Only when everybody stood up did I realize that Giuliani was present. Of course he was. He was looking extra smug. Maybe because of the fact that he had the upper hand in this case because he blocked me from accessing the full DL-6 case records again. That fucker. I swear to God by the end of this trial, I'll wipe that smug look off his face.

The judge let everybody sit down. She called Hillary and asked some basic questions, like her name, address, profession and her mental soundness. The judge deemed her mentally fit to face trial and finally, she asked the crucial question, "What will you plead today?"

"Your Honor, I'd like a to request counseling from my lawyer before I make my plea,"

To say that this was the shock of the century was an understatement.

"Of course," the judge said. "You are free to use my chambers."

Hillary and I excused ourselves and proceeded to the judge's chambers. Once we were inside, I detonated.

"What the fuck was that, Hillary?!" I bursted. "Five minutes ago, you are telling me that you want to plead guilty for some goddamn dream that you are having and now, you want my counsel?! Make up your damn mind, Hillary!" I was well aware that I have never been this angry at her before and she was almost in tears, but I didn't care.

"I'm so sorry," she apologized, her eyes glistening. "I can't bear seeing you hurt."

"Well, you just did. And it so happens that you are the cause of my pain," I said, my voice starting to crack. "I vowed to myself that I will get you out of jail. I vowed to because   
I wanted a future with you." I heard her gasp. "Is that hard to understand?!"

"No it's not," she admitted. "But it's hard to have a future with me if I've never had one in the first place."

"I would have accepted that," I said. "But what about your promise? You said you'd tell me everything!" I saw Hillary about to open her mouth but I interrupted her. "Yeah you told me the truth, but it was too late!"

"I tried to grapple with myself on how to tell you this, because I know you won't believe me. But after Giuliani attacked you..."

"Who told you that?!" I interrupted.

"It doesn't matter'" she said, " but the point is you are getting hurt from my cowardice. I should have pulled myself together and faced justice sooner, not hiding from my crimes."

She gave me a detailed explanation, but I remained confused as ever. I walked back and forth, thinking deep of what to do next. I could feel her eyes following me, and her gaze only added to the mountain of pressure. What do I do?

"Please say something," she begged weakly.

Something clicked inside me. I walked towards her, grabbed her in the arm and pulled her towards me. My lips made her way to hers, giving her a bruising kiss. She was shellshocked at first, but she acclimated quickly. In no time her tongue was begging for access. I could do this forever. She was heaven in my arms. I didn't know how she learned to kiss like this, but fuck! She was pouring as much intensity to this as me, maybe more. She was wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling me impossibly close. She was fire, personified.

Our lungs were almost depleted of oxygen when we mutually pulled apart. Hillary wiped the smudged lipstick off her lips while I arranged my messed-up suit.

"I am giving you a decision, Hillary," I said, blood pounding in my head. "If you plead guilty, you will never see me again. But if you plead not guilty, and I can promise you, you will be freed."

"I see," she said. "But why did you kiss me?"

I licked my lips.

"I had to make sure that you're the last woman that I will kiss."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you can't tell, the end is near in Farewell. 2-3 chapters to finally solve the murder mystery and Hillary gets acquitted, she might be having a sleepover. *wink*


	20. Chapter 20

Hillary and I returned to the courtroom tense and flustered,  the former because we both had literally no idea what she was going to plead, and the latter because we were still reeling over the intensity of our kiss. We went back to our seats and when the judge asked us if we were ready, be both nodded.

"So," said the judge, "Ms. Rodham, what will you plead to?"

I looked at the floor with my heard pounding. I felt like a man being waiting to receive his verdict.

"Your Honor," I heard Hillary say, "I plead not guilty."

My head suddenly jerked up in total shock. I was so stunned that I blanked out and the judge had to call my attention several times to ask if I was prepared to defend my client in her trial today. Of course, given that Giuliani gave me an equivalent of a ball-kicking in terms of evidence and discovery, I wasn't. But somehow, I felt that it was in Giuliani's interest that the trial be delayed because he would have more time fabricating evidence.

Despite the overwhelming challenge, I said yes.

Then I gulped. God help me in this.

Hillary and I sat down as the judge allowed Giuliani to make his opening statement. I tried to rely on my good ear and damn good memory to fish out every detail as much as I could.

"December 25, 1988, an earthquake had struck this very courthouse, and three people were trapped in an elevator: defense attorney Dorothy Rodham, court bailiff Roger Stone and the defendant, Hillary Rodham."

"Thirty minutes into the confinement, Dorothy Rodham and Roger Stone had gotten themselves into an argument over the limited supply of air. The defendant, fearing that argument could potentially harm her and her mother, felt that she needed to defend themselves. And so, she threw the pistol into the darkness. But unfortunately, it hit the ground and fired, and the bullet ultimately hit Dorothy Rodham's heart. Killing her."

I looked at Hillary, who was already sobbing. I could feel the guilt and shame emanating from her. Half of me was guilty that I made her fight the charges. I did not want her to suffer like this. But on the other hand, I knew that she was innocent. Always had been.

Giuliani didn't pay attention to the girl he had called her daughter and moved on with the trial. He announced that the first witness would be Roger Stone.

Everyone in the courtroom, including me, gasped. Roger Stone had not been seen in decades. Some even thought he was dead. Where on earth did Giuliani find him?

But my shock over the continued existence of Roger Stone was nothing compared to stunned reaction when I saw the man who ran the boat rental shop in the Bronx River enter the courtroom and sat on the stand. He wasn't as befuddled as when I met him before. He looked like a man who had been aware of who he was all this time.

"Name and occupation please," said Giuliani.

"Roger Stone. Formerly a courtroom bailiff. Now, a lowly boat rental shop owner," Stone said.

"The same Roger Stone who was trapped in the elevator with Dorothy Rodham and the defendant, Hillary Rodham, in this very courtroom, twenty five years ago?"

"Yes, Sir," said Stone.

"Well, then can you please tell us what happened inside the elevator?"

"Objection!" I bellowed. "The same witness claims, in another case, that he has lost his memory and he can only recall recent events."

"Your Honor, the witness had seen a therapist since he last testified and he had seen significant progress. Your Honor, I submit the comprehensive report from Mr. Stone's therapist attesting his fitness to testify."

One of Giuliani's associates stood up and handed a brown manila envelope to the judge. The judge nodded. "The court accepts this evidence."

"Thank you, Your Honor," said Giuliani. He gave me a smug smirk, and never had I felt this much urge to murder a person. But I needed to calm myself. For Hillary's sake.

Roger Stone gave Hillary a look of utmost loathing before he narrated his tale.

"It was Christmas Eve of 1983. Dorothy Rodham, Miss Hillary Rodham and I came out of Courtroom # 12, just three rooms away from this one. We stepped inside the elevator going to the ground floor. Suddenly, we felt the earth shake, and the lights suddenly went out. Before the power was gone, I was able to see Dorothy Rodham shield her daughter."

"Mom," I heard Hillary whimper. She had already stopped crying, and hearing Stone's testimony must have shaken her to her core. Discreetly, I took her hand and squeezed it.

"Dorothy told me and her daughter not to panic. We remained calm and collected, until thirty minutes had passed and we were beginning to hear people outside. I had an idea. I wanted to bang and bang the elevator doors until somebody heard us, but Dorothy stopped me, saying that it will only deplete our oxygen faster. I was getting frustrated by her lack of urgency. I wanted to live, so I did everything I could to get out."

"What about Miss Rodham, what was her reaction?" asked Giuliani.

"The more her mother and I fought, the more she cried. So, in effect, she too was contributing to the problem. Her mother was a hypocrite to point the finger at me when her own daughter can't even shut up..."

"SHUT UP ABOUT MY MOTHER!" Hillary screamed at Stone, and her sudden outburst caused a commotion inside the courtroom. Once the judge ordered silence, Hillary obliged.

Giuliani shot a disgusted look at my client before he proceeded. "What happened next?"

"Rodham and I were arguing. But I could feel that I was slowly weakening. This was probably caused by the thin layer of oxygen. But I could hear the defendant crying."

"I didn't know what happened, but I heard a gunshot and an awful scream," Stone added.

"When I came to, I was being surrounded by rescuers. I was already on the ground floor. I turned to my side and saw an unconscious little Hillary, and beside her was her mother, covered in blood and lifeless."

"Thank you for that detailed narration, Mr. Stone," said Giuliani. "Can you definitely say that there are no other people inside the elevator?"

"No," said Stone firmly.

"And you didn't shoot Dorothy Rodham?" asked Giuliani.

Stone shook his head. "No. If you see the angle of the bullet entry, the bullet entered Dorothy Rodham's body from above. It means the bullet came from above, which can only happen if the bullet was fired upwards, which can happen if you throw a gun and it fired off."

Giuliani smirked, satisfied by the answers of his witness. "That would be all, your honor."

The judge looked at me, signalling that it was my turn to cross-examine Stone. I stood up, my head spinning in all directions. I had a strategy in mind. I hoped that it would work.

"So, Mr. Stone, I am impressed by your knowledge of the Dorothy Rodham case," I said, trying to butter him up. "I presume that you also remember the other details in it?"

"Since my memory has returned, the events are as good as it happened yesterday," he replied.

"Very well. I'd like to test your memory, if you don't mind."

"Of course."

"How many bullets were fired from the pistol?"

"For the record, the pistol was actually mine," he said. "Two bullets were missing from the magazine, but only one was found on the scene. That was the one that killed Dorothy Rodham."

"What about the second bullet? Do you know where it is?"

Stone shrugged. "I don't know, to be honest. I might have fired it before. I did use it for target shooting the day before the incident."

"Very well," I said, "but is there was a bullet hole in the elevator, right?"

"Right."

My eyes glanced towards Hillary, whose face was of utmost shock when she heard about the second bullet hole. Sadly, I had expected this reaction. The sight of Giuliani seeming to enjoy all of this made me more determined to wipe that smile off his ugly face.

"About that second bullet hole, do you think it is possible that someone from the outside had caused it?"

Stone shook his head. "I don't think so. If you read the reports, the bullet came from the inside."

"Exactly. It came from the inside, and..."

"Objection!" Giuliani's voice boomed across the courtroom. "Your Honor, the defense is engaging in baseless conjecture and speculation. If the defense has nothing to counter Mr. Stone's testimony, then he should not drag this trial further."

"Sustained," said the judge.

"Alright, Your Honor." Damn. I was so close to proving my point. I had to attack from another angle.

"So, Mr. Stone, ever since you regained your memories, do you feel any sort of disdain towards my client?"

"I do not," said Stone. "She is a child when it happened."

"But you are here, testifying against her. You must have believe that there she has some sort of culpability."

"If you say it that way, yeah, I do," he replied. "But that doesn't mean I have ill will towards her."

"So no bad feeling at all?"

Stone shook his head. "No."

"Even though the accusations against you led to your ruin? I heard that you cannot able to find the decent living after you've been acquitted. On top of that, your fiancé, Nydia, commited suicide."

Stone looked at me like he had just swallowed a bad clam.

"By the way," I pressed on, "isn't Nydia the name of your parrot?"

The courtroom audience gasped. The too knew what I was driving at.

"And by the way, when I talked to your parrot when I visited your shop, she mentioned DL-6. I thought what an odd bird she was, spewing random letters and numbers. But of course ,a bird cannot spew random letters and numbers. Parrots like her learn their words from their master. Who could have learned it from?"

"I don't know," said Stone. "She already learned that word when I got her."

"Perhaps, but do you know where else I saw DL-6?"

"Where?" Stone looked at me coolly.

"At the official court records. DL-6 is the official case number of the Dorothy Rodham murder case," I answered.

"That's not..."

"AND FURTHERMORE," I interrupted him before he could utter another word, "you also pointed the finger at my client, accusing her of murdering Dukakis. It seems to me like a pattern of behavior indicating that you have full control of your memories and that you have a grudge against my client, not the other way around."

I think I nailed Stone, because he was looking at me like I was the son of the Devil. He knew that he was being cornered, rightly so.

"And, that you intentionally waited the right time until my client is framed for the murder of Dukakis before you expose her..."

"OBJECTION!" Giuliani interrupted. "The subject is irrelevant..."

"Sustained."

"It's okay, Mr. Giuliani," assured Stone. "Don't you see? Justice is coming unto us. Upon my hands, Dukakis was served right for destroying me. And now, the real murderer of Dorothy Rodham is about to be punished. It is only fitting that I pay for my crimes too."

"But..."

"I confess to killing Mr. Michael Dukakis," said Stone. "I killed him. Thirty minutes before midnight, Mr. Dukakis came to my shop to rent a boar and I killed him. Half an hour later, Ms. Rodham came. I, dressed up as Dukakis, waded through the river. I fired a second shot to create a witness, to make someone think that she fired at that moment, with me posing as Dukakis, so when everybody finds out, the only logical conclusion was that Miss Rodham killed Dukakis."

The court was silent yet stunned at Stone's revelation. I looked to Hillary, and she too was in shock, before her face contorted into a that of fury. I could tell that she wanted to kick and scream and possibly go after Stone, but I silently warned her to remain calm. She grudgingly obeyed.

The silence in the courtroom turned into commotion, and because of the sudden developments in the case, the judge was forced to issue a fifteen minute recess. Once the trial was suspended, Hillary stood up and bolted from the courtroom to the lobby, her jail guards following her.

"Hey," I said when I finally caught up with her. "Are you okay?"

"Do I look like okay?" she lashed out at me. "I get to hear how my mother died, again, and then I found out who fucking framed me for the murder of Dukakis. Yeah. I am great. Just. Fucking. Great."

"I'm sorry you had to hear all of that," I said. I wanted to hold her but I wasn't sure if she'd let me. "Giuliani is a piece of shit for making you go through this."

"I don't know what to think anymore," she choked. "Truth and lies, I cannot distinguish them anymore."

"But you will, once we uncover the truth about what happened and who killed your mother," I assured her. "By then, you will be free from your guilt."

Hillary began to cry again. It was like the fifth time that I saw her in tears today, and each time I did, my heart felt heavy and I felt helpless that I couldn't comfort her.

"I don't know why I decided to fight the charges anyway," she said. "It's not as if our bargain's a big deal."

I just remained silent as I sustained the sting of her words. I thought for a moment that maybe I meant so much to her that she was afraid that she was going to lose me. But apparently not. And that dealt a blow on my morale

The court bailiff called us back in the court room. Fifteen minutes were up. As we head back, I just felt in my heart that Giuliani had already won.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go....

We went back to the courtroom as if nothing happened, as if Hillary didn't casually mention that I wasn't important to her. I left Billy, the boy hopelessly in love with Hilly, behind and emerged with Bill, the straight-talker, sharp-shooter lawyer who managed score the only defeat Hillary Rodham's prosecutorial career.

"Silence," the judge ordered the court as everyone settled in. "Prosecution, defense: are you both ready?"

"Aye, Your Honor," said Giuliani.

"The defense is ready, Your Honor," I replied.

"Very well," said the judge. "After the developments earlier, I have consulted with the law enforcement and prosecution and ordered that Mr. Roger Stone be kept in custody pending his own trial for the murder of Michael Dukakis. As for Ms. Rodham's sentence on that charge, we shall be convening in the earliest possible time to discuss her release."

"Thank you, Your Honor," I said. "We are looking forward to those hearings."

Giuliani didn't look too happy about it.

"Good. However, there is still the matter of Ms. Rodham's guilt. What is your opinion, Mr. Giuliani?"

"Your Honor, the prosecution's stance remains the same: Ms. Rodham is guilty of murdering her mother. I am sure she didn't mean it, but the outcome is the same: Dorothy Rodham is dead, and she must be punished for her crime.

"Very well," said the judge. "Is there any other witness that the prosecution would like to call?"

"Yes, Your Honor. I'd like to call Miss Rodham to the stand-"

"Objection, Your Honor!" I said. "The defendant clearly suffered enough trauma and she had already given numerous testimonies in the past. Additional testimony is only going to inflict more trauma unto her. "

"However," Giuliani argued, "the prosecution has new lines of inquiries that the defendant could shed light on."

"Objection overruled," said the judge. "Miss Rodham, if you please."

Hillary didn't give any indication that she knew I existed when she walked past me to the witness stand. Her face was stoic and unreadable, and infuriated me that she was acting like a bitch at a moment when she needed me the most.

"Alright," Giuliani began, "I will not ask you to recall what happened, as Mr. Stone clearly laid it out for us. But, I will ask you about the second bullet that the defense is alleging. Do you have any reason to believe that it exists?"

Fuck Giuliani. My rage shot up through the roof. He was trying to discredit my argument about the existence of the second bullet by using my own client's words against me!

"I don't believe that the second bullet hole has anything to do with the case, as long as it is missing."

For a moment, Hillary looked like she had some sort of an epiphany, but I couldn't understand what it was. I tried to get a clue from her what was that about but she refused to even look in my direction.

"So, Miss Rodham, do you deny the allegations of your attorney that the second bullet exists?"

"Yes," said Hillary affirmatively. "To the best of my knowledge."

"Good," replied Giuliani, satisfied.

If I weren't in a courtroom, I would have punched Giuliani in the face a long time ago. Why has he so adamant to quash my second bullet argument?

"You see, Your Honor," Giuliani said, "the defense's theory of the existence and relevance of the second bullet is flimsy at best."

Giuliani's words caught my attention. It was, in my opinion, an overkill. It was enough to shoot down the existence of the second bullet to kill my entire argument. But why address the relevance too?

I should be listening to Giuliani questioning Hillary, but my mind was in a different dimension. My gut was thrashing and screaming:  _focus on the bullet_. I didn't have evidence on my side to back me up, mainly because Giuliani took it all away, but my gut had never been this certain.

_The second bullet was concealed to mislead investigators from the real murderer_ , my gut told me. _Maybe the same thing happened twenty two years ago._

True. The murderer intentionally fired a second shot just to create a witness.

And Giuliani must have a motive to conceal the second bullet! Or else why would he go through the trouble of stunning you?

Indeed. Giuliani made himself look suspicious when he attacked me. If he had an airtight case, why the need for conceal information from me?

I closed my eyes and let my mind wander.

Suppose the second bullet exist. It means that one passed through the elevator and one through Dorothy Rodham's heart. So it means that the second bullet must have been outside the elevator. But the question is, why wasn't it found?

There was someone outside, of course.

That someone outside must have taken the bullet and pocketed it to mislead the investigators. Though I was convinced that it had happened, it didn't make much sense to me. Even if the second bullet remained in the scene, would it point to the real killer, even if they used Stone's pistol to fire a shot at Dorothy Rodham? If the killer simply wiped their prints out of the pistol, their traces were gone. Heck, the murderer could even hoodwink the paraffin test to escape culpability. And given that many people inside the building when the incident happened were connected to law enforcement, the chances of that happening was extremely high.

So far, I had a half-baked theory. I just need a proof that someone was indeed outside the elevator, other than the fact that the second bullet was gone.

But still, it was better than nothing.

I was pulled back to reality when I heard the judge call my name. She was asking me if I wanted to call any witnesses. She warned me that she was ready to hand down a verdict if I could not prove that Hillary did not shoot her mother.

My heart raced, and not in a good way. I had to think fast and come up with something.

Given that Hillary shot down my theory, it would be a mistake to call her. I could all Bush to testify the details of the case just to buy more time but the judge would likely penalize me if it turned out that I was just stalling.

I turned my sights to Giuliani's direction. He had that smug look on his face. Clearly, he was enjoying the fact that Hillary and I were caught in a sticky situation. Nothing made my blood boil more. As tempted as I was to punch him, I had to figure out something more productive.

With nothing to lose, I decided to go for broke with my half-baked hypothesis.

"Your Honor," I said, "may I offer the defense's theory regarding this matter?"

"Go ahead," said the judge.

I then laid out my theory about the existence of the third person outside the elevator. I took it as a positive sign when the judge closed her eyes in deep thought. I couldn't care less about Giuliani's indignation, but Hillary looked at me like I was mad.

"Bah, what nonsense!" Giuliani spat. "Before it was this non-existent bullet, now this non-existent person! Your Honor, clearly, the defense is grasping at straws."

"I find it quite unusual for the defense to directly contradict the defendant's testimony so I will ask the defendant: do you allow this line of inquiry?" the judge asked Hillary.

I looked to Hillary and begged her with my eyes to let his push through. I knew she was already resigned to her fate, but I was not. Even though she thought I never mattered anyway.

I did not know what happened but for the briefest moment, I saw the slightest hint of sympathy from her when she had been ignoring me during the entire proceeding.

To my utmost surprise, she said, "I will consent to this, Your Honor."

"Alright," said the judge. "You may proceed with this inquiry."

I thanked the judge and nodded to Hillary as a sign of my appreciation. Giuliani scoffed on the other side of the room, and remarked how this was a waste of time.

"So, let's assume that the murderer, this third person exists. How will you explain the method of which this murderer killed Dorothy Rodham?" challenged Giuliani.

"They killed her when everybody else was unconscious," I stated. "With the lights out and nobody to witness the murder, the killer could easily get away."

"But you said the murderer had something to do with the disappearance of the bullet," said Giuliani. "When the incident was discovered, everyone inside the courtroom was inspected for any suspicious items before they were released. No bullet was found in anyof the individuals. I myself underwent that inspection, even if I was injured."

Oh fuck. Giuliani was able to quash my theory in a snap.

But hold on. Giuliani was injured during the day of the earthquake? That was news to me.

Wait, didn't Giuliani take a six-month vacation after that, when he had never taken a leave anytime else during this 40-year career? It couldn't just be a coincidence that the injury had nothing to do with the vacation.

I tried to play along, hoping that I could get more information from Giuliani. "I hope it was not serious.

Giuliani frowned and barked, "None of your business."

I seemed to have touched a soft spot. I decided to prod more.

My gut was screaming again. I think I knew where the second bullet went to.

Suddenly, I had an epiphany.

"Your Honor, I'd like to call a witness. Someone that could probably shed light to this," I said.

The judge looked at me amazed. "Really? Is there someone who can? I thought we had already exhausted every witness."

"Apparently, we haven't," I said. "Nobody seemed to have thought of calling him as a witness before."

"Why?" asked the judge.

"Because he was the one who prosecuted the case twenty-two years ago."

The entire courtroom grasped when I made that pronouncement. Giuliani looked as white as sheet, and Hillary herself was shell-shocked. It was the development that nobody had expected.

"As you heard, Your Honor," I said, "Mr. Giuliani had deemed himself a credible witness when he described his circumstance on that fateful day in 1983. I think we ought to hear what he has to say.

"What say you, Mr. Giuliani? Will you testify?"

I saw Giuliani clutching his shoulder like he was about to crush it. The gesture was not lost on me. his shoulder must have something to do with his memories on that day.

What if...what if his shoulder was injured that day?

"Mr. Giuliani?" the judge repeated, "will you testify?"

Never had I seen Giuliani sweat in bullets. Finally, I had him cornered in the most spectacular way.

"I-I-I-I," Giuliani stammered, "I-I-I invoke my r-r-r-ight against self-incrimination."

The court gasped yet again, ensuing loud murmurs.

"Silence!" the judge ordered.

"This is a baseless conjecture, Your Honor," said Giuliani. "The defense is on a fishing expedition."

"Overruled," said the judge. "While you may not answer the defense's questions, I must admit that the defense has raised a credible point."

Yes! For the first time, the trial was going in my favor. I just had to push Giuliani to the edge and make him slip.

"While Mr. Giuliani refuses to testify," I said, "I will raise an obvious question that has risen during this development: where indeed did the bullet go?"

The courtroom was silent, grasping at every word from my mouth.

"Let me propose a theory. The murderer did not intend to take the bullet, that I can concede."

"Ha!" said Giuliani triumphantly. "You finally understand!"

"I am not finished yet," I fired back. "But the murderer's intention does not matter anyway, because regardless, they had no choice but to take it."

"But why, Mr. Clinton?" the judge asked. "Why did the murderer had to take it?"

"Because they can't pull out a bullet by themselves," I said. "Nobody can perform an instant surgery, can't they?"

"Do you mean to say that the murderer was shot?" asked the judge.

"I do," I replied. "When Miss Rodham threw the gun, it fired a bullet and it passed through the elevator door and hit the murderer. That's when she lost her consciousness. But a few moments later, the murderer found the elevator open with three unconsciousoccupants inside: The Rodham women and Roger Stone. The murderer, with an apparent motive to kill Dorothy Rodham, picked up the gun and shot her while she was unconscious."

"This in an unexpected turn of events," said the judge. "What do you say Mr. Giuliani?"

"Nonsense. All nonsense. There is no way to prove that my injury has something to do with the murder."

"I disagree. There is a way to find out of your injury as something to do with it."

I reached deep into my pocket and grasped the small plastic that contained the bullet that killed Dorothy Rodham. This was the one that I managed to save when Giuliani attacked me. As I grasped it, I felt the painful irony that the thing that killed Dorothy Rodham would one day save Hillary.

I brought out the bullet from my pocket and dangled it in front of Giuliani. He looked like a dead man walking when he saw it.

"Here. I present to you the bullet that killed Dorothy Rodham," I said. "I'd like to request that Mr. Giuliani subject himself to a medical exam to examine the remnants of his injury."

Giuliani looked at me with utmost loathing. Of course, if he was truly innocent, the medical exam would yield nothing. But of course, I knew for certain that he was not. I knew that the bullet was still inside him because he would be careful enough not to leave a witness about a bullet being stuck on him, thus he had his six-month vacation. And because the bullet was still inside him, we could extract the bullet and compare the ballistic markings with the one in my hand. And I knew that the markings would match, this tying him to the murder.

In other words, he was the one who killed Dorothy Rodham.

"I refuse, Your Honor," Giuliani gasped, clutching his shoulder again. "I have rights!"

"Yes, you have, Giuliani," I said, "but you can't outrun the law forever. I suggest that you surrender now."

"An innocent man will never surrender!" he said defiantly.

"Indeed," I said, "but you are not, and we both know it. Confess to your crimes now."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"

"YOU!"

I spun to see to whom that voice belonged, and to my surprise, Hillary was on her toes, crying in rage.

"You!" I have never heard such raw hatred from her voice. "For twenty-two years, I was hunted by the same dream: I was inside the elevator and my mother and Stone was arguing. I threw the gun and it fired. And what followed it was a blood-curdling scream. I always thought that it was my mother who had been screaming. But no! IT WAS YOU, YOU FUCKING BASTARD! YOU KILLED MY MOTHER!"

Hillary, unable to control herself, lunged forward to take as swipe at Giuliani, but I caught her on time. She was trying to break free from my grip with a force that I didn't knew she had, but I still managed to restrain her.

"Order!" said the judge. "Miss Rodham, please calm down."

"I won't" she cried. "Not if you find out that this bastard killed your mother! He deserves to pay for this!"

"SILENCE!"

The bailiffs finally stood up and restrained both Hillary and Giuliani. Hillary wept in my arms, clutching me for dear life. The courtroom had been silenced, with the exception of Hillary's sobs.

"I think I am ready to declare my verdict now," said the judge.

"You hear that, Hillary?" I whispered on her ear.

She nodded and she gently pulled away. I handed her my handkerchief and wiped her tears.

"Defense, Prosecution, please stand-up," said the judge.

Giuliani, Hillary and I all stood up, ready to hear the judge's verdict. Giuliani never looked so furious at anyone.

"This court finds the defendant, Hillary Rodham, NOT GUILTY," she said. "In the meantime, I will leave it to the prosecutors' office to investigate and indict Mr. Giuliani. Another court will then decide his guilt. But for the case of Miss Rodham's guilt, it is already proven beyond a reasonable doubt that she is not guilty of both the charges against her. It is clear that she had suffered massive emotional trauma from the murder of her mother. But only when justice is served that she can heal, and today is the day that she can finally make a step forward towards recovery. Miss Rodham, you are free to go."

* * *

"I already processed your release," said Bush when we met with him at the lobby. "Congratulations, Miss Rodham. I've always known you're innocent."

"Thanks," Hillary never looked so bashful in front of Bush. "I am flattered by your unbreakable trust."

"My pleasure," said Bush. "But the one who really pushed this through is Clinton here."

I simply smiled, my guilt consuming me a bit. That was a lie, of course. There had been multiple times that I almost gave up on Hillary when Bush had been steadfast. Why was he brushing me up?

"Thanks, Bill," she smiled at me, but not meeting my eyes. "I would be here if it weren't for you."

"It's nothing," I said. "I don't forget the kindness you've shown me when we were kids."

"It was a different time back then. I still don't understand why you are good to me when I always hurt you. Even today, I hurt you but you stood up for me," she said.

"I just can't just leave you like that, you know? You don't deserve to be locked up.”

Bush was looking at us like he was expecting something, but Hillary and I were both missing the big picture.

"Well," Bush tried to break the ice. "How about dinner? Shall we go out? To celebrate?"

"I would love to, but I am tired and I want to go to my apartment," Hillary said. "This Saturday, maybe? On me."

"Great!" Bush looked delighted at the prospect of free dinner. "Oh, I forgot to tell you, Miss Hillary. You can't come home to your apartment."

"Why not?" she asked, frightened.

"The building's water pipes leaked so your apartment is flooded right now," he said. "You might have to spend the night elsewhere."

If that wasn't the worst excuse to make Hillary sleep in my apartment, then I don't know what is.

"Oh," she said, "I guess I could just look for a hotel.

"Hey, Clinton! Can Miss Hillary sleep in your apartment?" Bush said out loud what both Hillary and I dreaded to hear.

"Uhm, I..." What? What do I say? It would be awkward as hell if she comes over but at the same time, I would be rude if I said no.

"It's alright, really. I can find a hotel," she said apologetically.

I knew I was playing with fire, but to save face, I said, "You can come home with me. I can sleep in the couch."

"I can't let you do that," she said. "If I'll come with you, I'll have to be in the couch."

To be honest, the double meaning of her words wasn't lost in me. Part of me didn't want her in my apartment because I knew if I let her in there, I knew I would not be able to sleep without doing anything about the fact that she was in my freaking apartment.  

Oh fuck it. She could stay. But Lord, please help me. I could not promise that I could control myself knowing that Hillary and I would be alone. 

 


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one long-ass final chapter. I bet you already know what's in it :))))

I closed the door nervously as Hillary looked around my bachelor pad. She dropped her duffel bag on the couch and immediately went to the window to admire the city view from there. I was a bit glad that she hadn't paid much attention to my messy dwelling as I did last minute cleaning; I didn't expect that I would be bringing home a visitor when I left my apartment this morning, much less Hillary herself. 

She seemed to have no intention to wander around so I let her be while I searched my fridge for anything edible. To my embarrassment, I only had a bowl of leftover chili from my dinner yesterday. There isn't anything in my fridge that I could use to whip up a decent dinner for two. I guess I'd had to call the nearest restaurant for delivery. 

"Hillary," I called from the kitchen. "What would you like? Chinese? Japanese? Indian? Burgers? Pizza?"

"Whatever you like is fine," she replied from the living room. 

"Okay," I said. Right. I decided to go for burgers because it as a safe choice. 

I grabbed my cellphone and made a quick call to the nearest burger joint. When I was finished, I returned to the living room and found Hillary sitting on the couch with her legs folded and tucked underneath her. 

"Sorry, my manners," she said, referring to her folded legs. "Your couch is nice. I think I can sleep comfortably in here."

"Oh no, no," I replied. "You're going to sleep in my bedroom. I'll be here in the couch."

"Don't be ridiculous, Bill," she admonished. "I can't kick you off your bedroom."

"But you aren't sleeping in the couch," I said. "You're a guest."

My brain had hatched a compromise that would probably end up making Hillary kick me in the nuts, so I decided not to share it to her. 

While the dilemma of where she would sleep raged on, Hillary excused herself to take a shower. 

"Of course, be my guest," I said. "First door on the left."

"Can I use your soap and shampoo? I don't have my supply from prison," she said. 

"Sure," I managed to squeak. The thought of her having my scent all over her boy sent shockwaves all across my body. Fuck. This was exactly what I was trying to avoid when I thought of not inviting her. Damn. Is it too late to find her a hotel room?!

I heard the shower start, and my vivid imagination went into overdrive. The one thing I needed right now was a cold shower, but that's exactly what I couldn't do because the woman who was the cause of my unease was in my bathroom doing exactly just that. Fuck my life, right?

I tried to calm myself by watching the news, but even the most boring voice of Senator John McCain wasn't enough to distract me from the thoughts of the goddess who was currently in my shower. Urgh. I should not be thinking of her that way, especially that she was just recovering from a life-long trauma, but I must admit, it killed me that she was in my shower and I wasn't there with her.

I was barely holding my composure when Hillar stepped out from the shower, a towel barely covering her skin. Her hair was wet and sleek and pulled back into a sexy finish. 

I think Hillary must have noticed that I was staring at her, because she suddenly became conscious of herself. I wanted to kick myself for making her feel like that. I knew that my resolve was barely hanging by a thread, but I needed to be respectful of her. I shouldn't force her with something that she didn't want. 

I heard the doorbell ring. It must be the delivery boy. I told Hillary to stay in the kitchen so she wouldn't be seen. I opened the door, and I was right. Our burgers were here. I paid the delivery boy and he was off his way. 

"Hillary! Our food's here," I called. 

She emerged from the kitchen, looking slightly hesitant. I didn't miss the way she tucked her hair behind her ear. Damn if it wasn't the most gorgeous thing I have ever seen. 

I dropped our food into the kitchen counter and we huddled around it. I handed her a burger. She eagerly unwrapped it and took a big bite. 

"Thanks," she said when she realized that I was staring at her again. "I've never had a decent burger in months."

"It's alright. You musn't have had decent food in prison."

"They're bland, but otherwise edible," she said. 

"I should have visited you more and brought you more food," I said in regret. 

"No, it's okay. Really. What matters is that I am free now, all thanks to you. You believed when no one else did. Even me," she said, her heated gaze making me melt. No one else in my lifetime looked so intense and passionate while eating a hamburger. 

"It's not a big deal," I said. 

"But it is," she refuted. "You pushed me to believe again, and because of your unwavering faith, I am free. I could never ever repay that."

It was my turn to blush. I could feel the heat creeping up to my cheeks. The more she showered me in complements, the more my face burned. 

"I don't know what to say," I said. 

"You don't have to," she replied. "I just need to express my gratitude. I am in your debt, Bill."

"You aren't, Hillary," I said. "It's okay, really."

Hillary's eyes glistened as she shakily placed her burger on the table. 

"Thank you. From the bottom of my heart," she said. 

Her words shook me to my core. I think that this was the first time that she had really meant it, and I was overwhelmed. I felt that a new Hillary was speaking to me. A new, free Hillary. 

We finished our burgers in silence and then she excused herself to change clothes. I had completely forgotten that she was only clad in her towel because I was so lost looking at her beautiful face. As she exited the kitchen, I cleaned up our leftovers and made a mental note to buy groceries the next day. 

When I went back to the living room, I found Hillary, still wrapped in her towel. She was holding one of the picture frames that was on my coffee table. It was a picture of me in my toga the day I graduated from law school. 

"I'm sorry," she said when she caught me staring at her again. "I saw this and I got curious. You look great in this photo."

"Thanks," I said. 

"Yale, eh?" 

"Yep. What about you?"

"Harvard," she said with a grimace. "Giuliani wanted me there so badly. I wanted Yale too but he was angry when I said I wanted there."

"We could have been classmates if you wen to Yale," I said hopefully. "We could have reconnected sooner."

"I doubt it," she said regrettably. "I would have pushed you away, just like I did this time. We would be forced to see each other everyday knowing that we don't want each other and I would have been the cause of your torment and you would hate me for it. In a way, I was grateful that we didn't meet at Yale."

"You don't know that," I said. "I bear no ill will against you."

"I am amazed by your ability to hold no grudge," she remarked, "but I know whether your've been hurt. Like today. You were hurt when I said that being with you was not a big deal."

I didn't deny what she said, because there was no point doing so. 

"I don't want to second-guess now," she said. "What is done is done. The more important thing is that we're here."

"Yeah, you're right."

Hillary returned the picture to where it used to be. "I guess I'll be going to bed now. Can I change in your room?"

"Yeah, of course."

Hillary bid me goodnight and headed to my room. I tried not to follow her with my eyes, but I couldn't help but notice that she didn't close the door.

My internal alarm bells started ringing. I am not stupid. I know what that meant. But I was afraid what I think it was wasn't what Hillary was doing. Nevermind that she had initiated the contact several times before and she had never objected before. Don't get me wrong: I wanted this so bad. But Hillary was just on her way to recovery from her trauma. What if I hurt her?

I didn't dare enter my bedroom no matter how enticed I was. But I began to notice that Hillary was taking too long. If she wished to sleep on my bed, she was more than welcome. I just needed to know.

I pushed the bedroom door gently so that I can poke my head inside, and I found her sitting on my bed, brushing her hair and still wrapped in her towel. There was no hint of surprise when I called her name. In fact, she was sort of...expecting me. A little relieved, I let myself in and sat next to her.

"Hi," she said. "Sorry I took a little longer than I thought."

"It's okay. You can sleep in there," I said.

"No, no, no. I just got carried away. I usually take my time brushing my hair before I go to bed. It calms me. I didn't get to do that in prison."

My eyes followed the trail of her brush on her soft, golden hair. My hand suddenly jerked up to touch her hair, but I caught myself.

Hillary's eyes quickly darted to my side, which suggested to me that she was aware of what I almost did. But she pretended that nothing had happened.

"I'd better go now," she said, tucking her towel. "Good night"

"Good night."

I had expected her to stand up and be gone, but she didn't. She remained on the edge of the bed, staring at me as if she wad waiting for something. I didn't know what to do. No. I knew what I wanted to do, but I wanted her explicit permission to do so.

My imagination must have been so vivid because I felt the first stirs in my pants. Hillary was now glaring at the crotch, and I made no effort to cover what was happening.

"Billy?"

Fuck, she sounded so sexy when she said that.

"Hmmm?" I said.

"Do you want to?"

I knew exactly what she meant. "Not if you don't want me to."

She bit her lip, and my resolve almost crumbled. "I don't know how."

Oh fuck. I was daunted by the immense pressure. I knew I was no noob, but I've never been with someone who is i experienced. What if I ruined this for her?

"Hilly," I gasped. "You have no idea how much I want it. But..."

"But what?"

"I've never been with someone like you," I said. "Being this close to you is a dream, but I do not want your first time to be terrible."

"Well, are you?" she managed to giggle.

"I am not bad, but..."

"Then you have nothing to worry about," she said. "I don't think you can hurt me if you tried. After all, you made me whole again."

I wasn't able to respond because Hillary loosened her towel and she exposed herself. Her succulent breasts were like two juicy pieces of fruit, ripe for sucking. I wasted no time holding her and squeezing her, feeling her nipples harden under my fingertips. She glanced down on her chest, fascinated by what I was doing to her, before she threw her head back and moaned when I pinched her nipple.

Her areolas were nice and pink, enticing me to suck them. When Hillary was still reveling in the pleasurable sensatio, I withdrew my hand and I closed my mouth on where why fingers used to be. I let my tongue probe around her nipple but purposely avoiding the hard nub. I could feel Hillary press her breast on my face, begging me to give attention to her sensitive spot. I would have done that, but I wanted to torture her a little bit, to make her angry and desperate.

"Please, Billy!" I've never heard her this wanting and desperate. And the thought of her being this hungry only made my cock harder. The ever mighty Hillary Rodham, the Demon Prosecutor of the Southern District, was putty in my hands.

Finally, I decided to give her what she wanted. My tongue prodded on her nipple, and the effect was nothing short of amazing. She held a stifled breath as she moaned and pressed my head further into her breast. I never realized that beneath those smart blouses was a great pair of knockers that were out of this world. Her breast were so soft, and her cleavage was just perfect for me to bury my face into. And I could not wait to fuck those tits later.

With my tongue ravishing her left breast, my hand returned to her right breast. My rough digit served a contrast against her smooth, creamy skin. Its scratchy texture provided the perfect tension for her rosy nipples. I observed her every reaction, repeating every motion that elicited a mewl from her lips. It wasn't before long before I felt her hips bounce on their own, as if they are animate.

The bed would depress,and then bounce back as Hillary ground her hips while I continued my sweet assault on her breasts. She was humping the bed, and I was glad that she was actively seeking her own release. But at the same, I felt her frustration, her impatience. She wanted more but she was confined to my ministrations.

I think I knew what might just help her.

I withdrew from my current task of sucking her titsdry and instead grabbed her wrist. At first, she thought that I was going to pin her down, but I was met with a surprised face when I guided her hand to her mound and I instructed her to press and rub her clit. The effect on her was instantaneous. She jerked her body as if a surge of electricity had passed through her.

"Billy," she gasped. "It feels too much"

"Be more gentle," I encouraged her. "Just press as hard as you think you can take."

Hillary nodded and she began to gently massage her sensitive clit. Her attempt was much better than her first, and I noticed that she was enjoying this. With her loving her own touch, I went back to suck her succulent breasts.

"Your tits are amazing, Hilly," I said when I looked up at her to gasp for some air.

"I've never had someone complement me like that," she managed to reply in the midst of her moans. "If I did, I would have slapped them with a sexual harrassment complaint pronto."

"You don't think this is sexual harrassment, do you?"

"No," she gasped. "Just because I like you so much and you are so damn good."

My ears perked up when she said that and my determination to make her feel good increased tenfold.

"That's it baby," I told her. "Just enjoy this. I promise to make you feel good."

"I know."

Hillary continued to touch herself while I delved and delved deeper into her chest.

"Billy?"

"Yeah?"

"I want to kiss you."

If Hillary wanted a kiss, then a kiss she would get. I let go of her breast with a loud pop and kissed her with a furor that I hadn't seen in myself since my teenage days. I pushed her on the bed while never breaking my contact with her. I had my fair share of sexual encounters over the years, and it was sort of embarrassing to think that I was acting more virginal than Hillary, a literal virgin. I was kissing her like I was thirteen and she was my first.

"Whoa, whoa," she pushed me away, gasping for air but delighted. "You're too much. You were the one who said to relax."

I couldn't help but smirk. "I'm sorry, but you taste so good."

She licked her lips and nipped mine. "You're such a damn good kisser."

"Only because you're so kissable," I said.

She playfully punched my arm. "You know how to butter me up. Now, let me remove your clothes. It's unfair that I'm naked and you're not."

I kissed her again and I let her hands touch my body wherever she pleased. I thought that she would be sloppy in her handiwork, but she had a finesse of a pro. She grabbed my neck and pulled me closer to her before sensually trailing down to my chest where she pawed me, applying some pressure on my nipples. She then went on to work on my buttons one by one. When she had unbuttoned me completely, she pushed my shirt off and then worked on my belt buckle. She forcefully pulled it away from my pant hoops as if she meant to tell it that it has no business in my pants. She rubbed her small hand against my bulge, and oh fuck! This was the closest thing to Heaven itself.

She unzipped my pants and she dipped her hand into my briefs, feeling my cock without constraint. I let out a deep sigh. Her grip was so snug. If her hand was like this, then I couldn't imagine what her pussy might feel like.

"Am I doing this right, Billy?" she asked when she pulled away to inhale.

I managed to grunt and nod my head, unable to form words. How could I, when her perfect hand was stroking my cock?

"Good," she said, satisfied and she invited me to kiss her again. I obliged, but this time, my hand was hovering dangerously above her labia. My hand crept closer to her clit but I chose not to give it attention, but instead went for her slit, whose moisture I never thought was possible.

"Fuck, Hilly," I said. "You're so damn wet. And so damn hot."

The more I played with her pussy, the more my cock and tongue became jealous of my fingers. Her engorged, wet folds were our of my sight, but the sensation in my fingers were so intense that my imagination was going overdrive. Soon, I was unsatisfied that my finger was the only one enjoying her pussy.

I broke off from our kiss and asked Hillary if she'd like me to go down on her. She bit her lip and told me that she didn't have anyone go down on her before, but she'd like to try. I gave her a quick kiss, grateful that she gave me the honor of being the first to give her cunnilingus.

I settled myself between her legs and good Lord! Her pussy was much more beautiful than I had imagined. It was literally glistening because of her arousal, and her fats lips would be so snug against my cock. I prayed for control because I don't think I could withstand a pussy that hot.

I lifted her hips and pulled her sex towards my face. Her soft curls around her lips tickled my skin. I rubbed my face against her hair and my nose against her lips. I was inhaling her scent, and it was making my cock sway left and right.  I didn't play with her pussy yet. I was just simply admiring. I could feel the heat emanating from her entrance, and the boundary between her heat and my breaths was finally erased.

My tongue made its first long, wide swath on her dripping gash, licking her arousal clean. I pushed her legs all the way back and spread them wide to give myself maximum access, and with her head propped up on a stack of pillows, I could see everything in pornographic detail. She was pinching and squeezing her nipples as I made love to her pussy orally. Her smell grew thicker as my humid musk seemed to fill up the room. She watched my tongue faithfully make pass after pass across her folds, trying to collect all her honey.

"Oh, that's it Billy," she moaned. "Please don't stop."

Hillary was oozing faster more than I could lick her, and I was perfectly happy with that. My throat muscles bulged in my neck as I swallowed nectar after nectar of her sweet pussy. My lips sucked in her juices from her lips while my tongue played on her entrance, pushing on her sweet hole every so often.

I took my time eating her, not because I wanted her to cum (although that was my ultimate goal) or nor to prepare her for my impending penetration, but because I enjoyed eating her immensely. I smothered myself in her leaky sex and drank from her hole as if I had just been in the desert. Hillary, while deep in bliss, didn't forget me. She gently rubbed my head and caressed me face while I massaged her with my tongue and drank her musky nectar. We could have stayed like that all day as far as I was concerned; her dripping faucet wasn't getting turned off anytime soon.

But Hillary was ready for more. She gently tapped my shoulder and she told me that she wanted me inside her.

"But I haven't made you cum with my mouth yet," I said.

"It's alright," she said. "Let's cum together with you inside me."

Her words were enough to make my heart burst, and I had no objections to fucking her pussy. I opened her legs wider and I sat up, rubbing my head against her lips making her sigh. My cock almost exploded when I made contact, and I just bit my mouth so that I wouldn't come. She was so soft, wet and warm. If she's already like that on the outside, I couldn't imagine what she would feel like inside.

I found her soppy hole and lodged my head inside, then lowered my upper body onto hers. I held her tight, cradled my head into her neck, then slowly pushed inside her. I saw stars and cried out to the heavens.

I pushed myself as slowly as I could. Though I am no black man, I know from my ex-girlfriends that I am a lot of take in, so I was very very careful not to succumb to my lust and fuck my way to the moon. I wanted Hillary to enjoy this. If she didn't cum, then it would have been worse than me getting blue balls.

"Slowly, Billy," she said. "You're a fucking baseball bat."

I smiled against her neck. I've never been called a baseball bat before, but I took it as a complement. Knowing that my girl needed adjusting, I pushed a little and then paused until Hillary told me. To help her move along, I started assaulting her neck with my tongue, licking the skin that connected her shoulder and head. Meanwhile, my hands were back on her now erect breasts, pinching and nipping. The more I played with her, the more relaxed she became. While her pussy hole remained tight, the tension I felt in her walls had vanished, and that was my signal to continue.

I held her tight and made slow but deep thrusts into her core. My lips were already gone from her neck and were now attacking her mouth. Our kissing grew deeper with every thrust, our salivas mixing as one before we both swallowed it down. The taste of her sex was still fresh in my mouth and I swirled my tongue deep inside, trying my best to savor every aspect of this most intimate act.

"Fuck my pussy, Billy" she encouraged. "Fuck me harder."

I didn't need to be told twice. I pulled myself out such that only the head was touching her pussy, and in one swift stroke, I was all the way to the hilt. She let out a muffled scream so erotic that I felt my cock twitch inside her. I almost lost it again but thank God I pulled out in case I accidently came inside her pussy, but her tight, leaking hole didn't do anything to dampen my arousal. My now glistening cock stood proudly as a testament of my attraction to her.

On every thrust, her juicy mound was squeezing my cock so deliciously. If her hand was amazing, then it was nothing compared to her pussy. She was my fantasy come true.

"Take it," she growled as her head rolled back. "Take my tight little pussy. Own it," she urged. I pulled her legs from around my waist and pinned her knees to her shoulders, then began lunging into her tender pussy at a maniacal pace. "Fuck yes!" she told said and that time she did scream. I was in terminal overdrive. I could feel her clenching inside me, ready to explode. I was right there with her and I don't think I could stop even if my life depended on it.

I kicked my thrusts up to a higher gear and she held me tighter. She was so motherfucking wet to the point that I thought wasn't humanly possible. She was grabbing my bicep as if she was going to snap it, and the pain only spurred me on.

I lost my composure when Hillary orgasmed under me, and even then I didn't stop. I wanted her to orgasm for as long as possible. I pounded and pounder her like there was no tomorrow. Her infernal heat and unbearable tightness pushed me closer to the edge, but I controlled myself not to come insider her. She didn't help my cause when she started screaming my name. I thrusted and thrusted, riding along her climax, and only when she came down from her orgasmic high did I let go. I quickly pulled out of her and let myself release on her belly, my seed splattering on her body, all the way up to her breasts and her chin.

I rolled over to her side as my cock softened. We were both panting. I just felt like I ran a marathon. Sweat drenched all over our bodies and messed my beddings. But it didn't hinder Hillary from snuggling closer to me.

"That was amazing, thank you," she said. "But I feel sticky."

"Me too," I said. "And to think, you just showered."

"I wouldn't mind taking it again," she said, her eyes hazed with satisfaction. "As long as it's with you of course."

"I don't mind either," I replied. "But I'd like to make a proposal."

"Name it," she said.

"We'll be at the shower, not on the tub," I said. "That way, I can eat you and vice-versa."

"Hmmmm," she said. "One one condition, though."

"Name it."

"Teach me how to pleasure you with my mouth."

* * *

I woke up with the warmth of the sun hitting my face and the brightness was too much for me to ignore anymore. I stretched my arm on the bed and my hand landed on the soft mattress where I thought Hillary's body ought to be. My blood suddenly turned cold. Shit. Shit. Shit. Where was she? Surely, she didn't leave me, did she? 

I pulled a pair of shorts and ran towards the living room. She wasn't there. I tried to look for her in the kitchen and she wasn't there either.

"Hilly?" I called out. "Where are you?"

No. No response from anywhere in the apartment. I looked at the bathroom to see if she's there but it was empty too. My heart began to sink and my stomach churned. She had left me, and there was no other way to explain her absence.

I frantically searched the apartment for some sort of note or message that she left for me. Anything. If she decided to fly, then I could still catch her at the airport. If she returned to her apartment, then I would follow her like a mad man. Anything just to track her down. 

I was almost at tears when I heard a voice call my name, and relief flooded my body when I recognized that voice. 

"Hilly?"

I ran to the living room, and I found her dressed in a T-shirt and sweatpants, holding a bag of groceries. She looked befuddled when she saw me. 

"Are you alright, "Billy? she asked. 

"I am," I tried to maintain my composure. 

"You look like you're...uhmmm..."

"Allergies," I lied. "Fucking pollen."

"Okay." She sounded as if she didn't know whether to believe me or not. Regardless, she shuffled towards the kitchen and placed the two plastic bags she was holding on the counter. 

"Where have you been?" I asked. 

"I went to buy some groceries," she said. "I woke up early and saw that you are running out of supplies so I took the liberty of, you know, shopping for you. I was planning to cook breakfast because I think it's just proper courtesy. I don't know the SOPs when people go to other people's houses to have sex."

I found her ridiculously cute and naive when she explained why she left that I had to kiss her. 

"You're the first woman I slept with who even thought of post-sex courtesy," I said.

"Don't laugh," she swatted my arm. "I don't know how these things work."

"I am not laughing," I said, wrapping her in the waist. "I just find completely adorable."

"Do you?" she sounded pleased. "

  
"I do," I nibbled her ear. "So get off the kitchen now so I can cook breakfast and you can take a shower."

She raised an eyebrow. "Why will I take a shower?"

"Because I expect you'll be sore after everything we did last night," I replied.

Hillary kissed me on the cheek and said, "I am a bit sore, but I want to cook."

"Okay, let's make a deal: why don't we cook together? Tell me what you have in mind and then we'll whip that up."

As it turned out, Hillary had a thing for breakfast food and she missed having decent breakfast food so we made ourselves a good 'ol American breakfast: waffles, eggs, bacon, sausage and toast. Hillary brought a bag of coffee beans from Colombia which she said was the best she had ever tasted and brewed it for us.

"Damn, you're right," I said, sipping the coffee as we ate out breakfast in the veranda. "This coffee is so good."

"I told you," she said. "So, what are you doing today?"

"I'm supposed to go to work today, but I think I'll take the day off today," I said, and I was met with a smirk from her. "You? What are your plans now?"

Hillary sighed. "I don't know. I need to find a job, for sure, but I am having second thoughts about going back to SDNY."

"Why not? You're already cleared. Surely, SDNY will want to have their best prosecutor back?"

Hillary shrugged, looking uncertain. "I am told that I can still return to my old job, but I am not sure I don't want to. Now that I realize that my reason for becoming a prosecutor is based on a lie."

"Because you learned to hate criminals for the wrong reasons?"

"Exactly," she said. "I wanted to become a defense attorney so that I could defend the poor and the defenseless. But after the trial of my mother's murder, I saw the dirty side of defense attorneys and I realized that my mother was an exception. I was disgusted so I decided to be a prosecutor. It was my personal goal to defeat defense attorneys because they only care for their litigation record.

"That is, until I saw you," she continued.

Her glare was intense, and it was making me feel hot.

"I thought you wanted to take my case because you wanted another notch in your belt. But I realized soon that if anyone who will defend a client on the belief that they deserve protection under the law, it's you. And being someone like your confused me. I thought the likes of you were long gone."

"I really wanted to become a defense attorney because of you," I said.

She blinked.

"I wanted to face you in court because I wanted to be what you were to me during that class trial. It moved me so much that I wanted to impact others the same way," I said.

Her eyes were glistening with tears. "You haven't changed a bit."

She wiped her eyes and then I sat next to her, hugging her close. I let her relax in my arms, holding her tight and telling her that she's not alone anymore.

Today marks the closing of a chapter in our lives, one that spanned twenty-two years and almost destroyed us both. Finally, we have obtained closure and we are now ready to move on. But that doesn't mean the journey will be easy. I will return to my practice while Hillary goes into self-reflection. She needs to decide what she wants to do. For the meantime, she can work in my law office for a couple of months and see if being a defense attorney suits her. But before that, she has a meeting with a diplomat in Lyon, France.

But whatever she decides, I will support her. Because she has me. Always has been and always will be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you so much for reading Farewell. As usual, I am happy that you guys stuck with me even though I've had rough patched during the course of writing this. You guys are the best!
> 
> P.S. will post the final chapter of Spoils real soon! And please read my other fic, [Clandestine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18086747) :)


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